Playing with Chaos
by Jester4554
Summary: The enigmatic Eldar Harlequin, Jester, must plot an escape from a desert world inhabited by humans, stranded after being ambushed and hounded by a bandit group of raiding Orks. However more than vicious Greenskins hunt the mad mime and his crew, and there are powerful forces who would have his head for transgressions of the past.
1. Chapter 1

**Playing with Chaos – 1**

"Oh, but my Commander, I truly urge you that reconsideration of your decision is made, for, as things stand, you have naught but man's frustration."

"Those monsters utterly ravaged one of our settlements and you dare suggest to me that I refrain from retaliating against those wretched, green-skinned mongrels?! They butchered everyone in that town, _everyone!_ Aside from killing even the women, those brutes didn't have the decency to leave the children alive; my men reported back that they'd been stuck up on shafts of metal and roasted over the flames of our burning buildings! The Orks didn't even take any resources from that damn town. They just burnt it all so we couldn't even use it." The man slammed his hands down on the table in front of him. Showing a rolling series of desert dunes was a large map, which lie stretched out on the table before him, and, not far from where their current command post was situated, was a red circle with an X crossed through it. "You would have me hold my men back from exacting justice against the creatures responsible for this travesty? Are those your wishes?"

"Heavens no my Sir! never would I suggest such idle course!" Said a man with a high voice, and who waved his hands around far too much when he spoke. "To withhold from any recourse would be passing judgement of fire unto your lands; these Orks would feel that they're being allowed to walk all over you! Even I will admit that we can't let your people lament such abuse from the brutish management of the foul green-skins!" His voice quieted down a bit, becoming much more enticing to listen to as the tone of shock died down. "I merely suggest that, instead of sending your own troops in and risking their lives, you allow me and my agents to infiltrate the area for you…"

"Damn it! We've been over this countless times before _Jester_! The Eldar are to be considered our enemies just as much as any Ork. I'd even daresay that the military would prioritize the Eldar as a greater threat than the Chaos; at least we know what it is they want. It's bad enough that I contacted you for help scouting out these regions, if word got out that even a single Eldar soldier was in the area then the military would turn its attention toward rooting them out. Your people are to be considered immediate threats… and those damn masks your kind like to wear don't ease tensions any!" At this point, the commander gestured with a single hand toward his companion's face, in reference to the black-and-white faced mask he wore even now.

Much like a mime, the humanoid being was dressed in a tunic designed with a mix-matched pattern of black and white. From the ribbon adorned top-hat upon his head, to the shredded ends of his long-coat and cloth gloves, down all the way to his pointy, spike studded boots. Each piece of clothing shifted in on itself to appear either black or white, with no segment seemingly staying one shade of that color as each piece seemed to trade colors with the warped swirl directly next to it. Yet, despite the odd uniformity of his raiment, it was the mask he wore which produced the greatest sense of unease in others.

The mask, if it could even be called such, appeared as if it possessed the same texture of flesh, though, if so, it had been intentionally stretched out to be inhumanely disproportionate and then dyed almost snow-white. Painted or tattooed as if it were streaming from the eyes, black tears poured forth from the black sockets, which were tailored to cast a deep shadow over the wearer beneath, all while a long and equally dark smile had been dyed into the tight-lipped face and stretched up a bit past the outer edges of the eyes - to the commander, it almost appeared that the taller man was laughing so hard that he'd begun to cry. Even the way he managed to keep his hair utterly immaculate and aligned at the shoulders was eerie to look at; the man just seemed too _perfect_.

"You think I'm perfect? _Aww_, it's so sweet of you to have such thoughts about me. But I must tell you, flattery shan't get you any additional favors with me. For you see, my heart belongs to another; one who is as radiant as the dark voids which swallow the stars. Perhaps in another life-time we could ha-"

"That, right there, Jester! Those telepathic powers that you command, which allow manipulation of the mind, is why the Imperium empire won't ally with your Eldar kind! No one wants to go into battle alongside one who can pry into their thoughts at a moment's whim…"

The Master of Mimes paused for a moment in mid-stride and spun about on his heel to look at the human, though, to do this he had to look down for he stood not only head-and-shoulders above the man, but an entire chest as well. Though he couldn't help but twist his body around in contortions that appeared almost painful, such as bending backward at what should have been an impossible angle, the Eldar called Jester inspected the lesser man shrewdly. As he stared intensely at the human, he paced around him in circles, much like a shark encircles it's prey before going in for the kill.

From his perspective, their conversation had been nothing more than a game, one that he was already familiar with - but of course, why wouldn't he be? After all, Jester was the one instigating the Orks into attacking the Imperium settlements. To him, all of this was just a game, as were most affairs involving those races outside of his own kind. However, he also sometimes forgot that the other races who shared this universe with his people didn't quite possess the same opinions regarding what was fun, and what wasn't. This was made apparent by the redness of the human man's face, and the way his mustache bristled about as he angrily breathed hastily. Everything about the human was tense, and, for a moment, Jester was concerned that the man's head would spontaneously burst into brain matter and gore.

"My apologies, good Commander Malverick. I beg your forgiveness, for you see, I am one of the more adept Harlequins who presently exist; such uses of my power have almost become habitual. Please, do not condemn the rest of my companions based on the manner with which I present myself." The master mime extended his hands out to the sides, nodding in deference for the human commander.

"They're really quite charming, I can certainly vouch for that, especially my_lovely Countess_!" The mime suddenly teemed with excitement as he talked about this Countess, spinning in place on his heels while turning the top-hat in the opposite direction. "Never have I seen such a beautiful specimen, especially when armed to the teeth! Her capacity for destruction with those twin guns of hers is more than exquisite! She is a true artist upon the battlefield; one who wields her pistols as though they were paintbrushes and who's favorite color is red. In truth, I don't do her enough justice - she is more akin to the Grim Reaper, for her coat mirrors his cloak, and her guns act as Death's scythe. Oh, please let us clear out the foul green-skins for you! Afterward, I solemnly swear that we will then leave the settling of this land in your capable hands!"

The human walked around the table setup in his war tent, eyeballing the grinning mime as he stroked the mustache on his face with two fingers. "So if I pull out my soldiers and let you pass through the region you'll get rid of the Orks in that area and leave, just like that?"

"You have my word Commander! After all, haven't I been loyal to you thus far? I challenge you to point out when my information has ever brought harm to your people…"

The human commander grunted at Jester's closing statement. The oddly patterned mime had thus far spoken true, and every instance where he had given information on the Ork movements had not only been unerringly accurate, but even his suggestions for how to best route the brutish creatures had also proven exceedingly useful. His own pacing had left the man on the opposite end of the table to stare at the disturbing specimen that stood in the tent with him. With a sigh, he placed both of his hands on the table and shook his head.

"Fine. Give me a day or two so that I can call out my troops and evacuate the remaining settlements. Then get in there, and clear out the filthy mongrels!"

Bowing low to the ground, yet somehow managing to prevent his hat from leaving his head, Jester appeared to vanish into thin air, even as his voice soothingly echoed throughout the confines of the tent. "With pleasure…"


	2. Chapter 2

After the apparently mad harlequin departed from Commander Malverick's tent, and taking cautious measures not to be seen by any of the humans living in the walled settlement, Jester found himself to be at much more ease traversing the scorched desert wastes that encompassed this land now that he was alone. Slipping by the mass of Mon'Kai had been easy enough for an Athistaur like himself to pull off, for all he merely had to do was create an air of transparency around his body in order to appear, by all means, invisible to the untrained eye. A master mime such as him specialized in acts of espionage and politics, and it was fairly common for the Athistaur to pick up such telekinetic talents in their endeavor to gain mastery over their role of political command. However, whether or not those Eldar who choose to engage in such a profession do well, is another matter entirely.

As burning sunlight fell upon the desert land, it caused the sand that Jester now lightly tread upon to become heated as well, which, in turn, caused the ground to send up a sweltering wave of hot air. In fact, the heat was so intense that even what cold-blooded wildlife one could normally find in a desert chose to sit safely in the shade, rather than risk being baked alive by the harsh sunlight. Thus far, the only living animals that he'd seen while walking the burning sands had been a single scorpion, which had dared adventure out from some rocky crevice in response to his presence. Due to either his own sadistic delight, or aggravation from the detestable temperature that was beginning to slowly cook even the great master mime within his ornate clothing, Jester had taken great pleasure in halting from his travels to pick up the critter by it's tail, once it had wandered close to him. Anybody watching would have thought the man had gone mad from walking around in the desert for so long after witnessing his handling of the poisonous animal.

Jester had dangled the creature in front of his face, eyeballing it with great amusement as the little animal furiously attempted to pinch at the mask he wore. Beneath the two fingers he used to clench the stinger, the mime could tell that the critter was trying vainly to use its stinger as well, but, knowing it could do no such thing, Jester deemed it fun to hold his finger out and give the scorpion a shot at snipping his hand with a claw; something it failed to do every time it went for the bait. After he'd grown tired of playing around with the animal Jester tossed the scorpion into the air and held it in suspension, raising his right hand into the air and holding it open like a cage. However, he did this only for a moment, before clenching that same hand into a fist and watched as the scorpions carapace crushed in on itself, before finally dropping the small carcass into the sand, knowing that it would be devoured by some desert scavenger.

Looking up from the ravaged body of the eight-legged critter, Jester cast his gaze toward a jutting series of rock cliffs, which reached into the skies and had begun to cast a long shadow over the sands as the sun finally went down. Breathing deeply, the master mime used his telekinetic powers to once again expel his own rising temperature and return his body to a state of equilibrium, before moving forward once again.

—

_Is it too much to ask for the weather to pick just one extreme? I can't be gone longer than half a day before it either gets too hot or too hold outside. Damned gods!_

By the time Jester reached the multitude of rock faces that he'd set his eyes on earlier in the day dusk had fallen, and the insufferably warmth of the desert began to drift away into a freezing breeze. Lacking any kind sort of large body of water this deep in the desert, it was rare for clouds to form over the land to blanket in the heat from the sun. What warmth that was stored in the sands, which burned almost as hot as fire after sitting for so long exposed to the sunlight, had already begun to dissipate as the night air now took over, casting its chill over the open desert. Fortunate for the telepathic mime, he was able to draw heat from the land and store it within his own body, just long enough for him to make it to the safety of the rocky caverns that his people currently made camp.

Despite knowing that the harlequin troupe that he currently traveled with liked to make their camps up high away from the ground, and for good reason, considering the type of ferocious creatures that were rumored to come out at night to stalk the land, Jester appeared to be the furthest thing from worried. If anything, he seemed excited for the long climb…though, perhaps that was because he had no intentions of climbing.

As the rock faces loomed overhead above him, the master mime scanned the area for one that seemed low to the ground. Upon spotting one such edge, Jester took off at a sprint and, with skill that would have left the most trained of acrobats drooling, leaped clear from the sandy ground, clutched at the side of the stone-face, and immediately jumped away from where he had just landed to another rock wall. In this fashion, Jester was able to reach the top of the earthen pillars with all-due haste, and make his way safely onto the ledge that protected most prominent of the natural caverns. As he all but flew from ledge-to-ledge, a few of the less adept harlequins poked their heads out to see what was causing pebbles to fall free from their place on the stone walls, but they quickly returned to sleep upon seeing that it was only the master mime returning to the fold. For, that's how their troupe was established, lower ranking members dwelt closer to the ground, that way they'd be the first to encounter any form of invader - assuming of course that any hostiles were even able to locate the Eldar - while the greatest of the warriors could prepare for battle; as painful as it was for some, sacrifices had to be made for the good of the troupe, and these brave Harlequin troops were prepared to do their tasks.

At first, Jester couldn't locate the cavern that he sought and had to walk around the ledge, but, within a few moments, he quickly located that which he was looking for. From out of one cavern thin trails of smoke drifted peacefully into the night sky, dispersing almost immediately once they were free from the protection of the stone walls and left to be ravaged by the gentle breeze that blew through the ravines formed by the multiple pillars. With the silence of a shadow stalking that which casts it, Jester disappeared into the wafts of smoke expelled from the cavern mouth…


	3. Chapter 3

_Ah, Nag Champa…of course she would be burning Nag Champa. That's my Countess' favorite herb to burn; she takes leaves of the plant with her everywhere. I should have realized that she'd be burning it here of all places._The mime paused mid-stride and more deeply inhaled from the smoke strewn air._ Oh, and is that the smell of oil mixed in there?_

The den wasn't very deep, and Jester didn't have to walk much farther before he was greeted by the light of a few lit torches piercing the haze of smoke. Far more numerous than the torches, dozens of incense sticks poked out from the floor close to the walls and sent up huge clouds of smoke as they burned in unison. Now that the master mime was so close to the point of origin where the smoke was coming from, he was almost overwhelmed by the powerful scent to the point of suffocation, but he used his mental powers to expunge the scented smokes from his lungs.

In the middle of the den, surrounded by candles on each side and kneeling on her knees, was a woman dressed all in black, with a trench coat making up the main piece of her ensemble, the tails of which lied on the ground behind her. She currently kept her raven black hair drawn back in a tight ponytail, so as to avoid it blocking her vision. She had put down a fine roll of cloth directly in front of her, which was currently being used as a mat for an assembly of gun parts that she precariously cleaned. She'd taken off her black gloves so as to feel the metal more efficiently, but continued to wear her usual set of bridal gauntlets. Smaller spikes lined the edges of gauntlets, with two lines running down in between each edge as a larger set adorned her knuckles. To her right, lying face-up on the ground, was a simple mask depicting a woman's face. Opposed to the master mime's own mask, this woman's was quite simple. Instead of having the appearance of being made from actual flesh it was clear that her's was formed from metal, and the majority of it had been cast in white, while the lips and eyes were shadowed in black. A simple design, yet incredibly beautiful in nature.

As he approached the kneeling woman, Jester took off the top hat he wore, as well as his own warped mask, revealing the actual pale face beneath the false. In contrast to his mask, the master mime had a highly serious countenance, with cold, piercing eyes and a humorless mouth that seemed to be naturally bent into a frown. Drawing closer to the Eldar woman, he knelt down right behind her and placed his mask and hat beside her own before gently grasping the woman's shoulders and resting his head on her right side.

"Ah, now this is why I prefer to use cutlery over guns. There's far too much upkeep that comes with shooting utensils; look at all this care you have to invest into your guns!" At this moment, a long, curved knife, with a black blade and a bone white handle, serenely floated into view before the pair. At the same time, the mime's hands moved down to the woman's side, hovering close to her flat stomach. "With this I can be sure that my prey is dead, and then I must only wipe the blood from the blade until he is ready to serve me again. For instance, what if you shoot someone in the stomach and it looks like they're dead, only to have them crawl away from the battle? Messy, messy, messy… I've missed you, my dear Countess."

The Eldar woman pulled away from the master mime to kneel on the opposite of the mat in order to stare at him.

"And I, you, Jester. If only because there is nobody else around here who's possesses the same skill as you at when it comes to getting on my nerves."

He smiled fondly. "At least when I irritate you, it serves as a reminder to us both that you're still alive."

"Sometimes I wonder if the other road would have been easier…" She said, after an exasperated sigh.

The small pieces of metal in between them began floating into the air and reassembled themselves to form the twin guns that Countess preferred to use. As the pistols came back into formation, Jester looked at the woman in front of him, who seemed to be staring off into space as he finished what she had begun. Much like the mime, Countess had a serious expression on her colorless face, and a set of black eyes which possessed such a penetrating gaze that the Jester felt as if he were being stabbed with his own daggers. Her alabaster skin was utterly flawless, giving her the appearance of an angelic being - a stark contrast to the profession she was currently engaged in, which dealt so often in meting out death. She had full, tempting lips, but what beauty she possessed was nothing but a facade that belied the cold killer within her. It was this brutal love for extermination which attracted Jester so.

When he finished putting the Countess' guns back together, the twin pistols elegantly floated toward her. Much like his own set of black and white daggers, her guns were crafted of a similar material and design. Each pistol, which possessed a barrel the length of his entire outstretched hand, was streaked with lines of ebony and ivory. Yet, when placed side-by-side, it became apparent that, despite their similar makeup, the guns were differentiated only by the color patterns they possessed, which swapped places on each gun - where one was the color of white, the other was filled in with black. In truth, they were quite beautiful to look upon, but, just as their wielder, the guns were capable of great carnage, as Jester had seen men lose entire arms to a single well-placed shot from his beloved Countess. With a dramatic air of elegance Jester placed the pistols into the hands of their owner, who gently holstered them out of sight and onto a clip located on the small of her back.

"Oh dearest, I have some good news for the troupe! I've finally convinced that human general I've been meeting with for the last several weeks to let us pass through the territory. All we have to do in return is kill off the Orks in the area, and make sure that the settlements that were attacked by the green-skins we brought are safe." Jester extended his arms out to the sides and spun once in a place. "Of course we can't let the Mon'kai know of our presence, but I'm sure you needn't be reminded by such words of wisdom."

The Countess allowed herself a chuckle, the first bit of emotion to grace her voice since the two had been together. "For all the stealth you claim to possess, it's only due to your mind-bending parlor tricks. Aren't I the one who's had to sneak up on our foes in the past, merely to save you from your own blunders?"

"How dare you bring up such tender memories unannounced! You know full-well that any such mistakes were carefully calculated on my part, and I was either biding my time for the right moment to attack, or expecting you to come bail me out! There is little I do not predict, and all that occurs is because I planned it so. My shows are always perfect! I could nigh forgive myself if I were to ever deliver such poor performances to those among my beloved audience!" Jester practically danced his way over to the Countess, and took the lady by her hands as he began to dance by the smoke-strewn torchlight in the cave. "Might I ask of my lovely lady a question of the highest import, hmm?"

The Countess looked into the eyes of her dear friend, dazzled for nearly the hundredth time at the other's ability to make her feel alive. As he hummed a nonsensical tune to give them something to dance to, the woman allowed herself to be struck by the mime's mannerisms. His apparent expressions of love and affection struck a chord with her, and she was ever amazed at his ability to play whatever role he so decided. The harlequin gentleman now holding her hands and dancing by firelight enthralled the Countess because of his extreme commitment of flexibility, and this just made him all the more interesting to her. Though, she always bore in mind that an actor as perfect as him, would ensure he came out on top, no matter the endeavor, and no matter his allies.

Allowing the Jester to rest a hand on her shoulder blade and guide her into a pleasant spin, she nodded. "You may, my Athistaur."

The detached look on Jester's face vanished as a wry grin cut across his features. "Will we be prepared to use that artifact the Chaos so kindly obliged to give us?"


	4. Chapter 4

The Jester stood just upon the edge of the cliff face that his Countess' humble cavern dwelling looked out toward, and turned his gaze to the distant horizon. Situated in the middle of some forsaken wasteland desert on a miserable, backwater planet of the solar system, his high perch gave the Jester ample capability to look out over the vast and stretching sea of dirt making up this world. Tan sand made up the view all the way up until the land met the sky, where few clouds dwelt amid the sapphire blue skies, and those that did manage to exist were but the faintest of wisps.

"I can't believe it's still barely morning and the heat has risen so much already…" The mime beckoned with a finger and caused a rock to rise level with his head, which he quickly tossed over the ledge. "And all the light shining off this sand burns my eyes!"

Turning away from the endless view, Jester scowled viciously beneath his smiling mask, and shook his head as he walked away. The master mime was heading back into the dark caverns to speak with the Countess when she herself started to make for the outside world.

"You should save yourself the trouble and just head back in there." He said darkly.

Placing both her hands on her hips, the reaper woman cocked her head to the side in amusement. "Oh, and why do you suggest this, Jester?"

"It's miserably bright out here. I'm afraid that my eyes will burn from my head if I keep looking into the sunlight any longer! This is why I hate desert worlds Countess, and you know it!" To hone in on his frustration, the Jester went so far as to actually stick out a condemning finger at the leather clad woman. "You know I prefer forest planets to these wretched desert worlds: the weather is always terrible, there's nothing to look at, and we're totally exposed in all those stretches of sand!"

Chuckling at her companion's distaste, the masked Countess expressed amusement, as well as a bit of mockery, in her counter-response. "You remember that our troupe had to pick a different sort of world to settle down on because of you, right? Not only have the Eldar been hunting you down, but your latest schemes have been riling up the Mon'Kai of the Imperium as well." She crossed her arms over her chest now. "You're beginning to make a lot of enemies, and they're paying closer attention to your movements. The last three planets we visited were all forests of some nature, and our foes will be paying attention for details like that. If we stop here on this planet then it'll throw them off long enough for us to figure out some place farther…"

Lowering her arms, the Countess walked forth from the yawning mouth of the cave in swaying movements so graceful they nearly seemed intoxicating. However, the lovely Harlequin's movements seemed to have no effect on the Jester, who simply turned his head away in a pouting huff as he crossed his arms over his own chest in turn and sat down on a nearby rock.

"Of course I know that! Still, I don't like it. It would be easier for me to hide in a forest, I feel really exposed out in these wastes…almost as though anybody could sneak up on me…"

Coming up from behind the Jester, Countess slipped both her arms around him from under his arms and over his chest in an embrace. "That's what you have me here for, and the rest of the troupe…"

Jester, a master mime of the Harlequin Eldar, sat silent under the weight of the woman's words seemingly thrown off. Beneath her mask, the Countess smiled coyly, certain she'd thrown her friend through a loop. Then, without warning, the coated mime mime with a stretched out face stood to his feet, almost dragging the woman up with him.

"You're absolutely right! What am I nervous for when I have you and the others ready to kill at my command? I have a veritable army of some of the most elite killers this solar system has ever seen following me around; there's no way I could be be taken by surprise all the way out here! We'll just stay here like we planned for a few weeks, put on a dazzling show for the Mon'Kai of this planet, and be on our way like we always are! What can be so hard about that?" At some point during his speech, the Countess had relinquished her hold on the master mime and stood passively by as he turned to face her, his arms outstretched to the sides as he practically jumped from foot-to-foot. "Oh dearest, I want to put the show on now, can we go and get things started?"

"Always hasty when it comes to bloodshed…" Now the death reaper shook her head at the man. Bending down, she picked up the Jester's top hat from the stone he'd been sitting on and placed it atop his head, looking into the eyes inside his mask as she did so. "You know we can't go hunting down the Orks yet, " the Countess straightened the hat before continuing. "We still to need to hear what plans the leader has come up with this time."

The master mime smacked his palm into his forehead at the reminder that he still needed to go over their attack plans, pulling away from her as he did so. It was only yesterday that he'd been given the go-ahead that he route the Orks from human territory, with Commander Malverick's sanction; while he had already concocted plans in advance for this day, it dawned on him that he'd yet to share those plans with the rest of his troupe. Even the lovely Countess had been mostly left in the dark, and Jester mentally chastised himself over his intense devotion to theatrics.

"Right you are again, my dear! Gather the troupe leaders, and have them meet me on the middle pinnacles - preferably somewhere in the shade - for we have much to discuss regarding the days ahead!"

Countess checked both her twin pistols, making sure they were loaded and ready for fire; just as she always did before departing from his presence, she elegantly bowed low. "They will know right away…"


	5. Chapter 5

Though Jester's troupe still had three days to go before they could move into the area besieged by Orks - at least according to the time frame provided by Commander Malverick - the master mime wanted to make that all the units working under him knew what they would be doing. Besides, the sooner his troops knew where the stage was the quicker they could begin prepping for their roles. Since Jester never bothered to rework his plans unless adapting for some previously unknown variable, the Athistaur went about giving orders in his usual manner. He met with no strategists nor captains but with all the Harlequin members of his troupe, for he greatly preferred when the actors were present for his breakdown of the script as a whole.

With the Countess organizing the troupe for their meet, Jester went down to the lowest of the middle pinnacles. He would be setting out again after this so that he could become better accustomed to the terrain. In truth, he had no idea how long his stay would be on the desert planet, and the master mime wanted to take this opportunity head-on so that hey may study the environment, no matter how he detested it.

Besides, Jester was more than certain that his lovely companion would make the stay more than worthwhile.

Since the Harlequin mime first encountered Countess several years back, she had failed to disappoint him yet. In fact - dare he think it - he almost considered the woman to be a friend, rather than just another tool of the trade. Still, this didn't stop him from pushing the death jester to her limits, and he often assigned her with the most difficult of tasks; however, they were also the most important, which he usually reserved for himself. Admittedly, Jester was incredibly pleased to have encountered another Harlequin who proved herself just as capable as him. Now they would be able to get double the work done than when he worked on his past plays.

Furthermore, just as the master mime liked putting the pressure on his companion's skills, Countess had shown that she wasn't afraid to push back. Whereas most of the trouper's under his command would never question his decisions, this woman enjoyed nit-picking at his choices and rebuking Jester whenever he "slipped up" as she liked to put it. The two seemed destined to butt heads against each other, as both demanded more-and-more improvement from their friend, feeding from the success in turn. This was the closest that either of the Eldar had ever been to another being.

The idea of such companionship with another was almost enough to make the Jester tingly inside, and he skirted around the rocky pinnacle to keep from growing too bubbly.

He continued pacing that same rise for well over three hours as the troupe assembled itself, and small groups trickled over from the ridges below and above his own to come before him. As the master mime walked around with his hands folded behind him, which served to suppress the tails of his coat from flickering about in the ever-present breeze blowing through the rocky ravine.

Many members of the troupe had learned to bide their time where their Athistaur was concerned; particularly newer members who, while holding the Jester in great reverence for his past orchestrations, also clung to the rumors of his viciousness toward any who disturbed him heedlessly. Still, some of the veteran members who were around long enough to observe their leader had learned the proper way to go about speaking with the masked mime. Still, the senior Harlequin of Jester's troupe rarely bothered to speak with their leader, having learned to trust place trust in his judgement, but now was one of those occasions where an older member now confronted him.

Despite calling themselves Harlequins, Jester and Countess were simply stage names that the two had taken on in place of their own; most Eldar, even those who operated outside of the society, commonly possessed an actual name befitting of their kind. Arhriban, one such figure, now approached Jester.

One of the Esdainn, Arhriban was a powerful warlock among the troupe, even by Jester's reckoning; and more so because he still managed to live through the demand's the master mime made of his troupe. The warlock wore exquisitely overlapping robes - a particular piece being his elegantly pointed spaulders - which possessed a flowing nature and caused the deep shades of purple and green to meld together. Armor of jet-black metal was placed strategically over Arhriban's form in a design to grant both protection and beauty. In contrast to the dark hue of his robe, and over-the-top design, the warlock's mask was bright orange, perfectly smooth, and utterly blank.

Immaculately calm, Arhriban seemed to glide next to Jester who he then matched paces with, for he continued to walk the breath of the ringed ridge. "A word regarding our movements, master Jester." he said, his voice calculating and seductive.

"What worries do you have now Arhriban?"

The Esdainn straightened noiselessly as Jester snapped at him; he already knew to expect such a response from the master mime, for he often withheld thoughts of doubt regarding his leader. Though his leader had proven highly tactful in the past countless times, things always seemed to pull through by a narrow margin that often left a calculating figure such as Arhriban on edge. It was to the warlock's chagrin though when, during his fourth operation with the brilliantly mad Eldar, he finally voiced his concern only to find out that Jester had been reading his mind since first joining the troupe. Ever since then, the mime never failed to make a point of the perceived coward he believed Arhriban to be at heart.

However, as always, he ignored the jibes made by his superior. "Do you truly think it wise to host a battle on this planet as well? We have several sects among the Eldar seeking us out, and the Imperium would have us routed the moment they discover an Eldar group is in their territory. Should we really be drawing attention to ourselves by engaging in bloodshed?"

"Really now, you're worried that I'll bring the hounds chasing after us if we fight anything. However, if we fight unseen against nothing but the brain-dead Orks, what do we have to worry about?" Jester asked.

"With respect sir, we Harlequins do not fight in the same way as the filthy Mon'Kai. If we stir up trouble on this planet our enemies will be able to put two-and-two together; if the Eldar don't take notice of how these Orks were dispatched, eventually the Imperium will. This is a planet of farmers and herdsmen, not warriors! You've said yourself that their commander has already spoken with his own superiors of the Ork problem, eventually they will come here and wonder who took out the enemy for them." The warlock's retort was sharp.

"In which case we will be long-gone." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though the conversation were over, but Jester stopped pacing in order to look at his subordinate.

Eldar of the same height, both stood roughly seven and a half feet tall, but they could not have appeared more contrasted. Where Arhriban dressed more elegantly and patterned with a strong preference toward order, his leader appeared much more chaotic and clashing. Not a single thing about Jester looked as though it were meant to make sense, and with even the mask so warped that the face upon it seemed to cause one to lose their focus. Still, the master mime clasped Arhriban's upper arms firmly and gave them a reassuring squeeze, which caused the warlock's face to flash with irritation beneath the mask.

"Arhriban, you've followed me around for more decades than I could bother to keep track of, and, though we've certainly been in some tight places before, look at where we're at now!" He released the Esdainn and threw his arms into the air. "We've dazzled dozens of worlds in the past before now, so I don't see why we need to go and break our perfect track record now! This place is just one more stage for us to wow the competitors!" Jester reached forward and put his index finger on his counterpart's mask where the forehead would be. "Now stop acting like you don't know me, and sit back quietly while you go with the flow like usual, hmm?"

The warlock clicked his tongue, but didn't say a word. As was suggested, Arhriban stepped away from the mime's finger to shrink away to the shadows, where he would stand quietly to ready for whatever last minute preparations were demanded of the troupe.

—

Not half an hour since Jester finished speaking with the warlock, Countess appeared by his side. She brushed away the hair hiding his pointed ear and leaned in close to him.

"The troupers have assembled together Jester; we're ready to hear how we're going to escape from this planet." She whispered before disappearing quickly disappearing as he clapped his hands together and turned around.

"Wonderful, now thy will be known!"


	6. Chapter 6

Jester, seeing that the gathered assembly had mostly come together on one of the lower alcoves as requested, finally leaped up to one of the smaller ridges - which barely had any room for him to stand without falling - and gloriously held his arms out to the sides. The master mime looked over the rag-tag Harlequin troupe, and judged their numbers to be nearly thirty strong. As his eyes flitted through those gathered below him, the master mime realized that there was a very few number of masks he could actually recognize; death seemed to constantly hang over the troupe of Harlequins and their mad master. Jester smiled.

A relatively small force if they had to fend off a mass invasion, but there was enough manpower among them to slip through a simple farming community without too much effort.

Many of those who followed Jester had only joined with him during the last five years, though there were none who were recently new to his troupe. During Jester's last bout of destructive antics on a separate Imperium world, which eventually culminated in the detonation of several nuclear bunkers. Naturally, the empire of space marines took this as a deliberate attack, and set out to capture the one responsible at once. Prior to the Imperium chasing after him, Jester had pulled several similar stunts against his own Eldar with crimes ranging from: theft of military supplies, ambushes against military outposts - usually to obtain those weapons - and, of course, his worst attacks against the Eldar also included the mass detonation of incredibly powerful explosives. While Jester imagined that he was simply setting off a fanciful light show, his targets often viewed the assaults in a completely different light.

Still, while the majority of the gathered Harlequins bore no relevance to the master mime, he did notice that there were several masked figures who had thus far managed to survive quite extensively; Arhriban and Countess being among those individuals. While the mad Athistaur allowed any to follow him of their own accord, whether or not they lived was up to how up to the task they were. Jester had no mind for taking care of the lives of his pawns, and sent troupers on suicide missions at a whim. However, this also served to weed out those who were too weak to stick around, while revealing those who would do whatever it takes to survive. This was no troupe for the weak of heart; Jester demanded much from his soldiers, and as soon as they proved capable, he upped the ante.

The master mime clapped his hands as he prepared to speak, and was glad that the mask he wore hid the wide grin on his face. This would be their biggest hit yet.

"Oh just look at all of you who showed up, I'm deeply, truly touched by this show of faith! Why, I'm not even sure I deserve to have a loyal following of magnificent Harlequins such as yourselves!" Jester clutched himself in a tight hug and precariously spun on the tip of his toes, while ever-remaining just at the edge of that small ledge. "Yes, your faith in me has proven quite admirable my dearest troupers! I'd be moved to tears, but it is not my wish to die just yet, at least not by drowning within my own mask! Besides, we've yet to put on our greatest show thus far!"

A burst of murmuring broke through the gathered throng; some voicing excitement, while others spoke of care and caution. As Jester raised his hands in an attempt to quiet the mass of troupers, an angry voice from within the crowd shouted out what was on all their minds.

"How can you be planning another attack when we should be trying to get out of this desert? Ever since you blew up half of that other planet we've had the Empire and the Eldar hounding after us!"

The master mime became ever more thankful for the mask covering his face, for, while the grin remained on his face, it was now much more vicious; a warning of the bloody events to come.

"First off, let me be the first to tell you that your concern is rightfully placed; I won't deny, we're in quite dire straits at the moment with the number of enemies who want us dead." Again, a quiet murmur overtook the crowd, but it was quickly hushed down when Jester started speaking again. "Furthermore, I'd like to thank you for bringing attention to this matter, for I was just about begin discussing what's to be done concerning our route off this miserable wasteland! After all, the most wanted criminal in the galaxy won't be able to just slip off some desert rock unnoticed… No, we'll have to cover our tracks!"

The troupe went quiet as he said this as each of them tried to figure out what their leader could possibly mean. Finally, one of the Harlequins voiced their concern, and asked how drawing attention to their movements with an attack would help them stay hidden.

"With as many eyes looking for me to make some kind of move, it will be close to impossible for us to shuttle anywhere within this sect of the galaxy without being discovered; this much is obvious. However, rather than skulking in the shadows, our best chances for escape now lie in _revealing_ our presence!" The Athistaur could tell that his troupers remained skeptical. "Imagine it, due to recent events, if a group our size tried to set off on a shuttle through space now then we'd surely be stopped in a check and our true nature discovered. However, if we bring our enemies - _all_ of our enemies - into one place, it will be easy enough for us to get away from here unnoticed."

"It's common knowledge that the groups chasing after us have no love for one-another, so why not play off that?" If we do something here that draws their collective attention to this wasteland then we can allow their own dislike for each other play to our advantage! There will be so much fighting and Chaos in the surrounding space of this world that escape will be made much more simple. With all the fighting going on between our foes, everybody will be so focused on the war effort that it would be senseless to question the presence of a carrier shuttle! Then, as this planet is consumed by the flames of war - flames that we started mind you - we will be able to escape to the farthest reaches to safety!"

The Harlequin troupers remained deathly quiet as the implication of Jester's idea sank into the crowd's mind; the gathering had grown so still that they could even make out the sound of wind making its way through the rocky ravines. Far in the back, Jester could make out Arhriban bringing an outstretched hand to his orange face-plate, as he so often did when deep in thought; and no doubt, somewhere nearby, Countess nodded her head in satisfaction, for she had been made alerted to his plans prior to announcement.

While the master mime had no worries about whether or not his plan would be successful - he simply wanted to have fun causing a stir - there were others among the troupe who weren't so confident.

"What if only one fleet shows up to bring you down?"

Jester, Athistaur of the Eldar people, bowed low theatrically. "Well…then I guess we'll have an entire army right on our heels then, won't we?"

He then rose up from his bow, and, finding himself unable to suppress a giggle as he stared out at the mass of figures shifting in unease before him, Jester clapped his hands the same that he always did whenever he concluded a speech.

"Well then, with that said, I want you all prepared to move out in two days; we have some fungi to purge from these wastes!"

Jester then leaped from his position on the smaller ridge, and sailed out past the ledge that the rest of the Harlequins still stood gathered. However, instead of falling to the sandy ground below like a rock, as he neared the land his descent was rapidly slowed and he was able to touch down as light as a feather falling. The master mime then set out into the wastes toward a large series of rocky formations, jutting from the sun-scorched sand, in the far-off distance.

_I know how I'm going to burn this world to ash…but how am I going to make two days pass by more quickly?_


	7. Chapter 7

The great chain of rock formations that Jester set out for earlier were much larger than they had initially appeared to be, and now loomed high in the sky before him, yet he still had quite a ways to go before he would reach the series of stalagmites protruding from the middle of the desert. He turned in place and started walking backward, placing his hands on the back of his head as he did so. The Athistaur stared beyond the bleak desert wasteland at the craggy ravines that he had walked from only a mere hour or two ago, and wondered if it would have been a better idea to simply stay put at the camp.

Not too long ago the morning had transitioned into afternoon, and the suns rays beat down on the empty desert harder than ever. Even with his proficient mental prowess, Jester was starting to doubt whether or not it was smart to have ventured in the sunlight for so long, and couldn't help but crave the sweet shade promised by the rocky formations lying a little bit less than half an hour away. Good thing to, for an aching throb was quickly building in his left temple, and the mime risked causing serious harm to his brain if he didn't ease up on the use of his power. Finally, once he was only ten minutes away from the earthen towers, and Jester could no longer bear the excruciating pain that threatened to split his mind in two, he took off for a straight run to the blissful shadows cast by the great rocks to seek refuge from the harsh sun.

Unfortunately, since the sun was situated almost in the middle of the sky, there were few shadows which extended any farther than a few feet. Drawing closer to his destination, the mime swore in irritation - for he'd been hoping to sit himself against one of the cliff walls - however, now he would have to stand fully upright if he wished to prevent his body from burning under the vicious sunlight. Still, as the last leg of the run fell before him, Jester forgot all about his frustration toward being forced to stand.

"Oh my sweet, I promise I'll never leave your side again!" He joyously yelled, pouncing at the rock wall and tightly clinging to it. "Use your darkness to keep me safe and stave off the vile light of the sun!"

The Athistaur remained in that position for some time; almost more than half what it took him to actually run to that point. It was as though he'd fallen into a daze once he reached safety, and, after closing his eyes for a while, seemed to nod into a light nap. Still, if such was the case and he had fallen asleep, the Harlequin never once lost his grip, and continued to embrace the shaded stone that was so cool to his touch. Without warning Jester finally turned his gaze upward, seeking the best route to the upper levels of the stalagmites.

The master mime recounted seeing several sets of stony spikes jutting over one-another back when he was still able to see the whole collection of them, some short while others had become truly massive. With the amount of pillars making up this formation Jester was positive that there'd be much more shade up top for him, and quite likely a refreshing breeze as well. However, from his vantage point it was impossible to tell if there was anyway to quickly climb from his current position without being exposed for too long. Unwilling to risk making a longer climb than was necessary - especially since he'd be exposed to sunlight at a certain elevation - Jester all but crawled around the perimeter of the stone pillar, sticking to the shaded areas as much as possible.

If the ledges had been closer to the ground then the Athistaur could have simply jumped up to one of the ridges by using the power from his suit to propel himself higher than a regular jump, but he wasn't lucky enough to have found a location with an accessible jumping point. Instead, he started working around the gargantuan rock formation for another half hour before finally discovering a location that seemed like a good place to start climbing.

From his current spot on the ground, Jester was able to tell that a section of the ridge jutting from one of the other stalagmites was actually a separate bridge entirely. To him this meant that he wouldn't only find a flat turf of rock to stand or lie on when he got to the top, but that it would be heavily shaded as well. However, the ridge was still too high up for him to make it in a single leap, and forced him to climb his way to the top. Still, with the promise of more shade, the Harlequin leader had all the motivation he needed to start climbing.

For the most part, the rock wall was too sheer and didn't possess enough placements for him to grab hold of for a proper climb. Fortunately, Eldar weaponry happened to be made of unique materials, which made it more optimal to use for an assortment of things than the _archaic_ technology used by creatures such as the Humans and Orks. Jester slowly backed away from the cliff face before swiftly pulling two crescent shaped daggers out from within the folds of his coat, and, after expertly flourishing them with a couple of spins between his nimble fingers, leaped to a higher location to begin his ascent. Nearing the wall, the Athistaur swiftly brought both of the daggers down and plunged them into the rock, the dangerously sharp blades piercing the stone as if it were flesh.

After making sure he was securely fixed in place, the mime pulled a dagger from the wall and stabbed it into a higher spot. In this manner he managed to eventually work his way to the top of the lower cliff formation; climbing the rest of the distance as if he were on a ladder, it only took Jester a few minutes to reach the ridge he sought. As he placed both hands onto the ledge and pulled himself up, the Harlequin dragged himself away from the edge and stood to his feet.

Sure enough, now that he was higher from the ground, there was indeed a gentle breeze blowing through the high places of the rock formation. However, though Jester would have enjoyed being able to relax for a moment longer, he was now teeming with excitement over his chance to explore the chain of stalagmites. After wiping away whatever bits of rock and dust might still be clinging to the blades after their use, the mime put his razor-sharp daggers back in their sheaths and took to aimlessly wandering the area. Now that he was in a higher location many of the ledges were closer together, and the Athistaur was able to jump whenever he needed to get around more quickly.

It didn't take him long to learn that this set of stalagmites would have been a much better location for his troupe to setup camp than the ravines they currently called home. The spiky formation offered a wide range of vantage points that his scouts could have been positioned for watch duty, and, unlike the ravine, their vision of the wasteland wouldn't have been impeded by any cliffs since they'd be positioned in the middle of the desert. Furthermore, the chains looked much like a mess of stone bramble from the distance, with various spikes jutting out from one-another to give the Harlequin troupers a great number of locations to hide in. The entire structure seemed as if it had formed solely for the sake of defensce, and as he clambered among the ridges, Jester looked at everything with great interest.

_Why didn't I have anybody come check this place out sooner? If I was on the run this would be the best place I could possibly hide in. There's a lot more stuff to do with these rock formations, and I'm sure the ca- the caves! Oh, I _have_ to go check out what the caves look like over here; I'm sure they stretch on-and-on and wind just about everywhere!_

With renewed vigor the Athistaur bounded off, leaping from stalagmite to stalagmite with grace and dexterity.

Though he greatly preferred spending his time in lush forests, it was his experience that these cave formations sometimes hid away precious treasures ripe for discovery; and that's not to mention that successfully navigating a particularly complex cavern brought its own rewards to the energized mime. At the most, he was always curious to see if he could locate an underground waterfall or river, which were always precious resources - even more so out in the desert waste. Since the rock formations seemed to have formed in the shape of a protective, spiked bowl, Jester imagined to himself that somewhere in the heart of the great pillars he would find an intricate network of caverns to explore, and so that was where he decided to check first.

He was so excited to be exploring the new area that he didn't even realize he was under fire until a bullet knocked the hat from his head.


	8. Chapter 8

A single shot rang through the rocky crevices, sounding much like a great boom of thunder as its echoes bounded off the massive pillars rising from the Earth. Jester's top hat was blown from his head, and he practically pivoted in the air in shock. His arm shot to the side, where he grabbed hold of the rock wall and slowed down his forward momentum. First the mime looked down and watched in aghast horror as his favorite hat fell into the depths canyon he'd been leaping over, and was swallowed by darkness deep darkness. He didn't worry about being attacked again just yet, and concerned himself with the grief of losing his favorite headgear. Without the hat in place, his immaculate, shoulder-length hair was now free to be blown about by the wind, and it quickly lost all semblance of refined dignity.

The shot had been meant to get his attention, not to kill, and the shooter would have his full, undivided attention. Jester looked up in a rage, his eyes flaring open widely under the smiling mask as he all but screamed.

"Who dares think themselves so grand as to attack the Mad Mime, chosen Harlequin of the Laughing God Cegorach? I will peel the flesh from your muscles and unravel the sinew in your body with my mind! You will see firsthand the greatest joke that life has to offer!"

Jester turned his head this way and that in a frantic search for the shooter, but only ever saw the deep, muddy brown of the crevice walls. Occasionally his eyes would linger on the bloody red clay left exposed on the surface, but he would always quickly realize that he stared at nothing important. Thus, in his own maddened rage, the master mime failed to observe the black-clad figure standing in the shadow of a pillar across from him. Another thunderous shot rang out, and this time it hit the wall right below where the Athistaur was holding onto.

As the weakened rock gave way beneath his weight, Jester used both his feet to leap from the cliff face and propelled himself to the opposite ledge. When he landed, it was in a kneeling position, and the force from his fall - fueled by power subconsciously ebbing from his mind - caused branching cracks to spread in the stone beneath him as an immense pressure was placed upon the Earth he tread upon. He quickly stood to his feet, and, though he remained unarmed, the feral stance he dropped into belied the calculating gleam of viciousness dancing in his eyes.

However, it was no unfortunate wanderer who had decided to take a potshot at the passing Harlequin, but rather a familiar face; or, rather, a familiar mask.

Pistols in hand, and clad in her long black coat - underneath which she wore a dark metal tunic - on each knee was a skull that possessed a single horn jutting from its forehead, as well as a smaller set of laughing skulls on each of her knuckles, Countess stepped out of hiding and revealed herself to the master mime. The pale white mask, like that of a corpse - and akin to her skin beneath the armor - possessed a quality of refined beauty that even the coldest of ice queens would have clamored to count as theirs. The Countess' cold eyes stared out from the shadows within, and it was as though looking upon the cool face of death sizing up a soul ready for reaping. It was not bloodshed that such a divine being sought, but to create beauty in that which often has none: the end.

At length, neither one budged as they waited to see which of them would make the first move. The collected Countess with her pistols trained on the mad mime, or the absentee Jester who thoroughly craved glorious immersion in violence.

"You shouldn't have shot my hat, cunt. Where am I going to get another so easily?" He hissed.

"I really couldn't care less, the drab thing was truly hideous to behold. In actuality, I was aiming for the head it sat upon hoping that a spot of blood might make it look more appealing." She shrugged.

"You wouldn't know good taste if it walked right up to you, opened your mouth, ripped out your tongue and teeth, then made love with the bleeding hole."

"Would this hole look like the one I put in your hat not too long ago?" Countess asked.

Jester snarled as he slipped two daggers from the folds of his own coat. At the same time, Countess fired a volley of shots from her twin pistols right at the mime's position. He quickly lashed with the pistols in an upward curve, deflecting the first shots into the sky, before redirecting the rest of the incoming bullets in a flurry of swings.

In combat, the Countess had a much greater superiority with ranged affairs, but if he could get in close then the fight would turn in Jester's favor. However, the Death Jester's guns were especially made to hold a great number of extra rounds, and it would be some while before she ran out of ammo. Unfortunately, the space between the two was so great that Jester wouldn't have been able to close the distance before she finished reloading, and rained down another volley of biting shrapnel on his position. He could easily continue standing in place and deflect the shots she made at him, but he would still be locked down and unable to move any closer without her making an attempt to keep herself away from him.

Since moving forward wasn't an option, Jester took the last route left to him. The Athistaur leaped backward into the canyon.

He put forth a hand, which sent a blast at the wall he faced and shoved himself toward the far cliff face, which he then used to propel himself back toward the other rock wall. Hidden within the shadows under the ledge, the master mime waited to see what his opponent would do next as he tried to figure out a new plan of approach.

Yet, Countess clearly had no intention of giving her Commander time to think, for a grenade fell down into the ravine, shocking the Harlequin Troupe master. The device exploded within seconds of passing by him, and with the only directions for the blast to travel being up and down, a great gush of fire eagerly rushed to consume Jester. Without any time to contemplate his next move, the mime thrust himself from the wall and back up within sight of the ledge. Giving him no quarter, the Eldar woman immediately took up the opportunity to begin shooting at him, even as he made a desperate jump to the pillar hanging over her on the opposite ledge.

It had been his hope that he'd be able to use the great stalagmite as a barrier against her constant barrage, but the alien woman had thought ahead. As he neared the pillar, he looked down at Countess and saw that she was making a run for another nearby ledge. Even as he landed against the stalagmite he'd been aiming for and was trying to figure out what she could be up to, the pillar he gripped onto began to shake violently as a booming explosion echoed through the canyons. Jester looked down and realized that the Magorach had rigged the base of the pillar to blow, and now the entire thing was toppling forward like some great tower collapsing in the midst of a siege.

However, he was fortunately on the backside of the edifice, and was able to ride the falling structure for most of its collapse. Once the great tower of rock started crashing into the ground, Jester dived away from the pillar as it broke beneath him, and disappeared amid a rising cloud of dust.

It took nearly two hours for the dust to settle from the pillars collapse, for its fall had knocked down several adjacent stalagmites and caused several of the nearby canyons to fill with their own suffocating clouds of displaced stone and dirt. In that time, Countess continued to survey damage in the area, while continuing to seek out her target. Still, she didn't expect the collapsing pillar to have taken her friend's life, nor did she expect him to spend time recuperating. The death jester didn't stay in any one place for too long, and constantly kept herself on a patrol through the area.

She wandered the canyon ruins for several hours longer, long enough for the sun to begin setting, for shadows to stretch, and for darkness to spread and become deeper; yet still she could find no hint of Jester's location. She was currently laying atop a particularly tall pillar on her belly and looking through the scope of a rifle when she heard the scrape of boot against stone. She attempted to rise as quickly as she could, but Jester was much quicker in closer quarters than she could have hoped to match. He fell upon her before she could react, pinning her to the ground, and put his familiar curved dagger against her throat.

"That was quite a nifty trick you played earlier with the explosion; I wasn't expecting you to use something that strong in the middle of a training exercise. Nor was I expecting you to waste a grenade flushing me out from that canyon."

The blade pressed firmly against her soft skin, and the weight of his full body atop hers made speaking difficult, but Countess replied nonetheless; but she couldn't be entirely sure the knife didn't cut into her as the muscles of her throat worked. "I figured you could use a few surprises to adjust more quickly to combat in this land."

"Well, they were very well done, and I particularly enjoyed the chance to ride that pillar down as it crashed. It reminded me of the days I would stow-away on a cruiser, kill the crew, and let the ship slam into whatever happened to be in its path." He mused. "Now, we have a few options remaining for us to spend the rest of this day…" The Athistaur was beginning to enjoy the feel of her body beneath his own.

"You know I won't be able to beat you in a melee."

"Oh, but you really should get the practice in. How else are you going to become any less sloppy in a fight?"

"Our training ended when you put that knife against my throat: your win."

"But you know me, I'm prone to have my foe right where I want them, and then I'll go and do something like…give them a knife, or a sword." He cooed into her ear as he brushed aside her black hair.

"You really want to have a knife fight up here, right now..?" She asked.

"Well…no." Jester moved to rise and grabbed his friend by her shoulders, bringing Countess to her feet as well. "First I want you to fetch my hat, then, after you bring it back to me, we'll go looking for a cave to crash in for the night. I really want to see what the caves look like in these ravines!"


	9. Chapter 9

Arhriban sat cross-legged atop one of the the pinnacles that naturally spiraled up from the set of caves the Harlequin Troupe was using as their temporary headquarters. Though only given a two day advance before they would be moving out, the high warlock didn't possess very many belongings that couldn't be carried on his person, and so packing for their travels was of his least concerns. For now, the sorcerous Eldar simply wished to be left alone.

Before Jester's assembly could even come to an end, Arhriban retreated back to the den he was currently using as his private chambers. He attempted to meditate inside the secluded alcove, but found it difficult to concentrate. The warlock went pacing about the dark cavern, his steps echoing with every fall, when it finally occurred to him that he was restless because of the cave itself. Being cooped up inside the same glorified hole for nearly three months had nearly driven him insane, and Arhriban worried that he may eventually become as mad as Jester. Furthermore, it seemed as though he couldn't get a moment to himself no matter how hard he tried. With Jester running off somewhere - as was his usual routine - as well as his chief officer, Countess nowhere to be found, most of the troupers came to Arhriban's cave to pester him with their questions.

The high warlock's eyebrow twitched in agitation beneath the mask. This was what really frustrated him the most about traveling with the Troupe's enigmatic leader. He would convince dozens of Harlequins to follow him at any one time, but he was hardly ever around to actually lead them anywhere in the first place; that he left to those who had been around the longest, as well as his officers. The only time Jester ever came forth to lead the troupers anywhere, was when they were heading into battle, and that was only because he wanted to rack up the highest amount of kills.

When he finally had enough of being cooped up inside his cave, as well as dealing with whiny pests, Arhriban made for the upper levels of the pillar he and the other warlocks and seers were using. Looking out over the entire desert, the high warlock was pleased with the amount of sight this new elevation afforded him, and being surrounded by nothing but the open air was refreshing for his mind.

Arhriban took the mask off and put it down at his side. The features of his face were sharp - much like a bird of prey - and his eyes were narrowed into a dark stare. Just as was the case with Jester and Countess, his skin was flawless and his tone jaw hinted at a strong physique as well; unlike them however, he was a darker shade of grey, with purple eye and smooth white hair that was drawn back into a tight ponytail. With a miserable groan the warlock put his hands over his face and lightly fell onto his back to stare at the empty sapphire sky above.

He lied there for some time, allowing the gentle breeze to caress him as though it were a tender lover. His own breathing was slowed, for fear that he may break the fragile moment of tranquility that he finally managed to find in the desert wasteland. Meanwhile, Arhriban's thoughts were turned toward his time on the planet.

_Three months, three whole months and this fool hasn't done a damn thing to secure us a passage off of this miserable planet; all he's done is kiss up to that pathetic Mon'Kai. I swear, if I didn't need to eat as well, I'd have stopped organizing the hunting parties weeks ago! And it's not just Jester either! These mindless imbeciles are just like children, it's as though they need their hand held for every little thing they do. No wonder Jester takes off without warning; all his troupes are good for is soaking up bullets while we do all the real work… What happened to the days when we could take pride in being an Eldar? I dare say that the Imperium has finally achieved a level of greatness our people could never strive for. At least they've formed a successful empire, and their people are loyal to their emperor._

_I was hoping Jester would have been more eager to come into a position true power - he certainly has the aptitude for planning that would allow him to obtain such goals. I thought he was simply playing the part of the fool for appearances sake, but the idiot truly seems fixated on destroying everything! The Harlequins following him are lame-brained and can't think for themselves; they may as well be the living dead. Countess is the only other Eldar here who's shown an aptitude for being useful, but she's only interested in helping our leader…but what's the alternative?_

_The Imperium despise our kind just as much as the Orks and Chaos, and the rest of my people are utterly senseless! The Harlequins are fixated on just surviving and doing their damn plays, the corrupt are too busy fucking their own brains out and pleasuring that whore goddess Slaanesh, and the rest of the Eldar are obsessed with tradition and terrified that they wouldn't be able to control their own temptations - cowards, of course I couldn't stay there. We were, and still are, the rightful rulers of this universe, but nobody has any ambition to reach out and claim that which belongs to us!_

_The Orks, Chaos, Imperium, Slaanesh and the other fallen gods…all of them should be bowing down to us! It's a disgrace that we've fallen so far that I need to scavenge around with these aimless wretches!_

__A loud boom of thunder rumbled from somewhere in the distance. As Arhriban sat back up, the pillar beneath him started to lightly shake as what sounded like a dull and constant grumble caused him to perk up. No, not thunder, it was an explosion, and a powerful one at that.

The high warlock looked off into the distance where he presumed the noise to have been. Several miles away was a mess of ravines and stalagmites, which, from a distance, almost resembled a dried out thorn bush. One of the great stone pillars sticking out from the midst of the ravines was presently collapsing onto its side, which explained what as causing the slow rumble. Even from this great distance, Arhriban could spot plumes of dust and dirt flying into the air, and pouring into the desert wastes surrounding the massive rock formation. The warlock rose to his feet and placed both of his hands around his eyes as though he were looking at the ravine from one end of a stretching tunnel.

His vision suddenly shifted closer to the area, and he was able to move about more freely as if he were a bird. Arhriban was initially worried that the explosion may have been caused by some military attack, but quickly tossed that idea out the window since the Troupe had done nothing that would have warranted the Imperium's attention - for the settlers on this planet possessed no artillery that he was aware of. He strained his mind to pick up the presence of life, and quickly caught on to the energy signature of two Eldar he was greatly familiar with.

_So that's where those two went…_ _Great, I hope they realize that I'll have to settle things down over here now thanks to their games._

The high warlock returned his free conscious to the confines of his body. He walked to the edge of the pinnacle he'd been lying on for the last several hours in bliss, and jumped off; however, rather than fall, he gently floated down to one of the lower levels where the other warlocks would be. Once he touched down it didn't take long for one of the seers under his command to seek him out.

"High Warlock Arhriban, we heard the explosion. Was it an enemy attack?"

"No, it was only Jester and our leading officer. They've holed themselves up in some ravines several miles away from our position."

"Why would they have done that?"

"So am I to understand that you'd prefer they held their combat practice in the place that we're staying? If so, I can tell them your wishes upon their return…" Arhriban shook his head at the lesser sorcerer as the man stammered to recover from the idiotic question. "Now, if you're finished asking me senseless questions, feel free to tell the others that there's nothing to worry about, and to continue packing up so we can move out on schedule."

Before making his way back into the miserable confines of his den for the evening, the high warlock looked out past the ridge. The setting sun cast an orange glow over the desert, and the sand glistened as if it were a sea of gold. Admittedly, he was almost touched by how beautiful the sight of it was…but not enough for his mood to be lifted.

While Jester awaited the return of Countess with his hat, he had taken to spinning about in circles on one foot and then the other. He was particularly enjoying his efforts to balance on the very edge of the ridge that he'd taken his officer by surprise on when she finally did return, her manner of entrance most unpleasant. Grabbing him by the cuff of his collar, the Eldar woman tugged hard on his coat and brought the master mime falling flat on his back.

"Damn it! What makes you thi-" He was cut off as Countess dropped the hat atop his face and he let out a high-pitched squeak of joy. "My hat! You actually found my hat!"

Jester plucked it from his face as he sat up and turned it over in his hands. While brushing off specks of dirt he came across the bullet hole, and gently rubbed his fingers over the frayed opening. "A little worse for wear, but nonetheless still part of my ensemble! Was it difficult to locate?"

Countess crossed her arms before shaking her head. "Not particularly. I remembered where I first shot at you, and, luckily for me, most of the upturned rock and dirt fell in the same direction that the pillar new lays. Still, I am more or less shocked that you actually sent me to go fetch that hideous thing."

"Ah, ah, ah," he said while wiggling a finger from side to side. "Let's not go name calling now. Sleeping together tonight would be much more of a hassle if we were at each other's throat - actually, that sounds like a bit of fun."

"Who says we're sleeping in the same cave?"

"Ooooh, Hide and Go Seek?"

"I need to get a better jump on you…" She said in an irate tone.

"Hey, we weren't going to do another ambush scenario, that's not what we agreed upon! You need to get better and hand to hand combat, so that's what we'll be doing tomorrow."

"I personally think you just want to do something you know you'll win at."

"Perhaps, it would certainly be easier, but we're going to have a huge party soon and it would be in our best interest if you brushed up on your close quarters combat ability."

"Is fighting the only thing you take serious?"

"Who says I take it serious?"

Countess sighed as she unsheathed the sword on her back. It was a dark and curved blade with several additional points extending close to the pommel of the handle. Initially the blades design made little sense to her - and it still didn't - for she wondered what such teeth would be doing on a sword meant for slashing and cutting. _That's exactly why I think it suits you, because it isn't traditional._ The mime's words that he spoke upon presenting the sword to Countess rang through her head as she held it up in the dying sunlight. She found the sleekness of the metal almost mesmerizing, a pool of perfect black ink; as dark as tar, yet capable of reflecting the gleam of the orange sun…like oil dumped into the and set ablaze.

She spent so long musing over how best to use such a blade that she didn't even realize that Jester had abandoned her. She walked over to the edge and peered over, where, sure enough, the mime was already down at the bottom levels looking back at her with that smiling mask.

She shook her head and holstered the weapon before beginning her descent into the ravines.


	10. Chapter 10

When Countess opened her eyes she knew right away that she had overslept. Though currently in the bowels of a deep cave, her internal clock screamed at her that it was already afternoon - the warm breeze filtering in from the entrance was also a dead giveaway, for the temperature inside the caverns only rose when midday reached its peak.

Yet, it was highly unusual for the woman to oversleep; actually, such an occurrence wasn't known to happen often at all. Rising to her feet, the Eldar's lips curled into a deep frown as she caught the whiff of a retching odor permeating the cave. At first she thought it could have been a natural gas leaking into the cave from some crack in the floor, but then she remembered that she didn't smell anything before she went to bed the previous evening.

Countess looked around the area she'd chosen to sleep in, but saw nothing amiss. Even the incense she liked to burn prior to getting some rest was right where she left it. The only thing that wasn't around was Jester, which meant he was probably already looking for a place to ambush her from. As she pondered the possible reasons for her oversleeping, the Magorach bent over to scoop up her signature Harlequin mask. Since she liked to keep the customized helmet near her incense, Countess got a closer look at the herbs that had been burning throughout the night, only to realize that somebody switched them out. Dropping the mask, she reached for the burnt stick of incense instead. The death jester brought the short stem to her nose and gave it a quick sniff. The strong, pungent odor caused her nose to crinkle and she dropped the burnt stem to the ground to stomp on it with her heel.

"Damn him! At least now I know why he slept with his mask on last night!"

After Countess fell asleep, her friend must have swapped her incense out with one made from a poisonous strain of plant, one with properties capable of inducing a deep sleep.

When grounded and made into a chemical the effects were much the same, only that higher doses could be potentially fatal. She remembered the plant well, for Jester managed to find it on jungle planet they last visited. When he brought them back to camp the mime had merely been interested in their vibrant purple hue and the way their petals looked to form swelling hands; naturally, his only complaint had been the repulsive smell. Still, as much as he loved the plant, he wanted to see what sort of properties it possessed first hand, and tasked one of the others with sampling the plant. The volunteer was another death jester, but she was totally devoted to trying her hardest to please Jester. Countess almost felt bad watching as the woman puked the remaining life from her body, but she was far more amused with the idea that the other Harlequin practically ran headfirst into Death's open arms.

Countess snatched her mask from the ground and secured it to her head.

She was irritated that Jester risked burning such a strong poison while her respirator was off, and in a confined space at that. However, in her rush to seek out the master mime and give him a piece of her mind the woman suddenly grew dizzy, an intoxicating side-effect from breathing in too much of the poisonous smoke. Still, after putting a hand against her head Countess pressed forward, determined to find Jester and knock some sense into the clown.

When she walked around the bend, the death jester moved her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding torrent of light that marked the entrance. For some reason the sunlight seemed to be brighter than it usually did whenever she stayed the night in a cave, and Countess immediately attributed her extra troubles to some effect from the poison. As she looked at the wall of light, which was more or less an impenetrable field of white, the Eldar worried that the poisonous smoke may have caused permanent damage to her eyes. Even as she drew closer to the exit, Countess' sight showed no signs of adjustment. Her inability to pierce through the wall of light disturbed her, and the Harlequin woman drew forth her weapon; not the signature guns that she was so familiar with, but rather she reached for the sword strapped to her back. The feel of the handle in her hand felt natural and assuring, and if she were attacked, she felt confident in her ability to maneuver the blade for defense whereas the guns would have provided no such shielding.

Countess held the curved sword in preparation for a swing, but as she stepped outside, the magorach was greeted with a most unexpected sight. Though she had been all but blind mere moments ago, the death jester's sight returned with such clarity that she had to blink in order to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

On each side of the cavernous maw a line of incense sticks had been stuck in the ground and left to burn. Small wafts of smoke serenely rose from each, but were quickly dispersed in the gentle breeze. However, that didn't stop their faint aroma from permeating the air, and Countess smiled fondly at the sweet smell of her favored Nag Champa; yet, that smile quickly disappeared as she looked at the figure sitting across from the cave. Some feet away, in between where each line of incense came to an end, Jester sat cross-legged with a hand on each knee. She could feel the eyes of her Athistaur as he looked her over, and the idea that he would dare scrutinize the death jester so soon after she'd awoken from the poison's effects angered her.

Lowering the sword in her hand toward the ground, Countess crossly started to walk toward the master mime. "That was hardly funny back there. Who do you think you are to risk poisoning yo-"

Countess was interrupted as her muscles tense up and became rigid. She was picked up off the ground and thrown back several feet, while rolling even more once she hit ground in the cave, and the sword clattered as it fell from her hand. Jester used his telekinesis against her. She wasn't too surprised by the attack, after all, she knew what he was capable of and the mime wasn't her first psychic foe. Still, most opponents who utilized such powers were incredibly uncommon, and Jester often preferred to fight with his daggers, so the mental assault managed to catch her off-guard.

As she picked herself up, first entering a kneeling position and giving Jester a hard look, his voice resounded in her head.

_Don't do that again my dear. Now come, I want you to sit with me for a while._

Though still irritated with the man she snatched up the fallen sword, rose to her feet, and returned to the cave opening.

"How long are we going to be sitting here? I thought you wanted to go through arms training today."

_Patience my lovely Countess, patience. Please, sit, relax a while…_

The death jester stared at the cross-legged mime coldly as she sat down across from him in similar fashion. She put the blade in her lap so that it balanced across each thigh and then proceeded to rest her elbows on the flat side of the sword so that her chin rested in her hands.

At first Countess was anxious and her body tense - which was no side affect from the telekinetic assault against her. As an assassin and marksman, she liked to be on the move as often as possible, a habit which had saved her life more than once when the allies of a target went searching for her position. Being forced to sit down like now was a radical change of pace for the collected killer. The death jester desperately wished that Jester would break the silence between them and tell her they would begin combat practice, but no such remarks came. After almost a hour had passed, Countess considered asking the mime what he was up to, but she quickly dismissed that thought knowing he would never reveal anything that was on his mind. Even when told her of his battle plans Jester never revealed his reasoning, only the things he wanted done.

To pass the time until her friend was ready - however long that might be - the death jester settled with looking around at her surroundings. Overall there wasn't much around to amuse herself with. The plateau in front of the cave was quite barren all around, and there were only several yards worth of terrain that could easily be stood upon before one would drop from a sheer cliff; the slowly burning incense sticks were by far the most entertaining of sights available to her. Protruding from the roof of the cave was another platform, which overshadowed the immediate area of the cavern opening. Much like the rest of the bramble-like rock formations, this ledge looked like it led to another perch from which one might wander around to some new location, but, overall, there was nothing worth exploring in her present state.

A couple more hours slowly dredged by, and in that time Countess had settled with watching over her companion. At some point, between glances at the various sticks of incense, she became vexed that he was so content to keep watch on her and decided to reverse the tables - if anything it would give her something to do as well.

She marveled at how Jester managed to sit so calmly in the direct rays of the sunlight. True, none of the intense rays were directly touching his skin, and he was capable of warding off the heat with his mind, but not once had he moved since attacking her almost three hours ago. Then it hit her.

The master mime hadn't moved at all since she'd first laid eyes on him. Despite all the time that had passed since she awoke and came before him, not once had he budged an inch; even his hands were still resting peacefully on his knees.

"It can't be…"

Countess took up her sword and rose once more, though, when she walked toward Jester this time around she was much more cautious about it. To her joy, the master mime didn't attack, but continued to sit and stare at her with that same fixated pose; as she drew closer, ever did Jester turn his head to keep the death jester in sight. It didn't long for her to cross the distance and stand before him, yet still he did nothing but stare.

The magorach brought her blade up and angled the point so that it was pointed directly at her friend's eye. Standing so close to Jester, Countess found it odd that she could feel nothing emanating from the leader she'd grown so accustomed to. It was as if he were only a shell or puppet… She gripped the hilt of the blade more tightly before thrusting it forward, right in the eye socket of Jester's mask.

Yet, as soon as the blade pierced the being before her all traces of its presence vanished. She looked to the sides as well and found that even the traces of incense had disappeared; all of it had been an illusion. Suddenly, she heard somebody clapping from behind her and she turned. It was Jester, and he was walking toward her.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to work your way out of that. So what gave it away my Pretty?"

"You weren't you." She said.

"Hmm, it's not like I don't meditate like that on a regular basis. Oh well, I trust you understand the first lesson?"

"I…I think I do."

"It's important to keep an eye on your surroundings, but when you're about to fight somebody face-to-face, it's also good to be aware of them just as much." Jester said before reaching his arms behind his back and stretching for a yawn. "Well I think that concludes our first bout of practice for the day. Good show Countess, I'm pleased to see that you listened so obediently to a shade of myself. I really feel like I can trust you. I really wish we could do more but…'

The master mime looked up and brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the sunlight. "Yes, we should be heading back to camp right about now, assuming that neither of us wants to make the trek back through the freezing cold of these wastes. The Troupe has a long day ahead of them tomorrow; my, we'll be busy enough getting everybody in position for the first show on this planet!"


	11. Chapter 11

When morning came, the Troupe gathered under the long shadow cast by the great pillars serving as their camp grounds. Already the sun lit up the desert world, and the Harlequins stared over the barren stretch of land in anticipation of what might lie beyond their sight.

However, not every trouper was assembled to assault the Orks tearing across the wasteland, and some remained within their naturally fortified dwelling. Jester found himself so impressed with the new chain of caves he and Countess discovered that, when the master mime returned to camp, he ordered a small group to stay behind and begin relocating the Troupe supplies to their new fortress. A few of the troupers protested being left out of the action, chief among them the death jesters, but their leader quickly quieted any concerns they had. Jester swore to those forced to stay behind that he would personally make sure they were included in the Harlequins next performance. The mime's Troupe was all but ready to depart, and only awaited his presence.

While Jester finished going over where the group should move the supplies, Countess kept vigil over the Eldar force and ensured that none of them went wandering off; that didn't seem to be on any minds though, for most of the Harlequins remained within the shade talking with their companions while some kept their distance and went over combat movements to pass the time.

It couldn't have been longer than ten minutes when their esteemed High Warlock Arhriban approached Countess.

"He seems quite taken with that mountain chain the two of you were exploring the other day. You didn't do anything _too_ naughty over there to make him want it as his own personal kingdom, hmm?"

Merely from the tone of his voice, Countess could place the familiar smirk Arhriban wore when his mask came off and he ceased scowling grimly. "I would say the worst thing we did over was blow something up." She said.

"Oh, well that was _naughty_, now wasn't it? You know how much he loves to destroy things, that's probably what sealed the deal. Did you know that, not only could we hear the explosion, but we also felt the earth shaking from whatever you did? Tell me, do either one of you ever take the time to think things through? What if one of our enemies heard the ruckus you two made?"

"Oh I really doubt that would happen. The only human settlement in miles of this place was wiped out by marauding Orks."

"And you don't think they would have heard that explosion and done nothing?" The warlock hissed at her.

"No, I don't, because that formation is 13 miles away from where we're going. Even if the Orks did hear anything they'd be too stupid to actually do anything to prepare for us anyway. Most likely they were too busy scratching their heads to figure out it was even an explosion."

"Don't be absurd, Orks may be brutes but they live around explosions daily, they'd recognize the sound of a high-powered one anywhere."

"Oh my, I didn't realize you were so afraid of the green-skins Arhriban. If you'd like I'm sure we could talk to Jester and see about you staying behind to help move supplies if you think it'll be so dangerous."

"Don't mock me woman; it's bad enough that your lover does it, and the last thing I need is more of you to throw that childish word around." He pointed an accusing finger at Countess and nearly jabbed her in the chest with it. "If you and our leader don't want to listen to reason then fine, but I'll still join the assault if anything so your lack of foresight doesn't get this Troupe wiped out!"

Countess was prepared to trade venom with the High Warlock, but at that moment Jester called out to gathering from the plateau above.

"My cherished friends and beloved actors, just as the marching band takes pride in the inspirational notes they play, I am pleased to announce that the time has come for us too to motivate this world! Come, let us go forth and be a light of joy to the poor inhabitants of this dreary wasteland!"

The Master Mime then leaped from the plateau and landed among the crowd with his arms and legs outstretched. "Now follow me to the glorious bloodletting that we have spent so long to master as the art it is!"

Without further detail, Jester proudly walked forward to the cheers of his men as they followed after him. Even the few warlocks who remained and looked up to Arhriban as their leader joined in the crowd, confident in the strength of their Athistaur. The only ones who remained unmoved were the High Warlock and Countess, who each stood staring each other down.

"If you have anything left to say about Jester, then say it right now, because we have more important things to do."

"No, we've wasted enough time as it is. Just _do_ be careful out there…" Arhriban bowed low before slinking away to join the rest of the warlocks in back of the Troupe.

Countess stared after him until he'd joined up with the other sorcerers before she left as well. They would have to march for 15 miles under the grueling sun and standing around wouldn't get things done.

"So Arhriban is questioning my leadership is he?"

"Yes, he's quite adamant that we don't take proper heed to keep the Troupe safe."

"Funny, I don't remember this line of work being _safe_ to begin with. What's his line of duty again, laundry folding or the like?"

"Jester, I fear he may try to cause a rift in the Troupe if he's allowed to talk too much."

"Ooooh, something tells me that wouldn't work out very well for him." Jester cocked his head to the side so that it was closer to Countess'.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"He might be able to get some of the other troupers stirred up over this whole situation, but he knows, just as well as I do, that he wouldn't be able to secure any ships on his own. What's more, the other Harlequins know that too. None of them would risk losing the one person who might be able to get them off this desert world, and once I deliver to them the means of salvation I'll be a savior in their eyes." The master mime started to nod. "Yes, Arhriban will have to wait a little while longer before he makes any power moves, and by then he'll either be dead or gone. He's not the kind of warlock to stay where there's no opportunity for him."

Countess nodded her head and dismissed all that Arhriban had said nearly an hour ago. Still, she pondered over the High Warlock's behavior the last several weeks, for it seemed to her that he'd become more curt around camp; she wondered how being so dismissive toward the others might play into his favor. At length she stopped bothering to care. The Troupe still had a little over half the distance to go before they'd be at the fallen human settlement. In just another 8 miles she and the others would have to face the Orks, and she couldn't afford to have much else on her mind.

Stupid and brutal they may be, the Orks were still a foe not to be taken lightly, and she wasn't prepared to mess up her own track record just yet.


	12. Chapter 12

When the Harlequin Troupe reached the human settlement - or what remained of it - night had fallen. The Eldar group camped on the outskirts of the small town, where they were able to remain hidden from the Orks among the hills. In order to protect themselves from the cold night air, small groups of troupers sat huddled close together for warmth. Jester had forbidden any of them to light a fire, or let alone use anything that might give off any heat for fear that it would alert the Orks, and so they miserably passed the time until the sun would return. Fortunately, their place in the hills kept them shielded from the desert breeze, and so the troupe was able to tolerate their conditions for the time being.

While most of the troupers tried to get some rest a few of the Harlequins had other matters that needed attending. Jester, Countess, and even Arhriban snaked their way to the top of one desert dune and peered over it. They stared at the wreckage of the human settlement in an attempt to scout their enemies positions, and the best way to take advantage of them.

Though it was no fortified city, the settlement was walled in, at least for the most part; several locations had been blasted and broken into rubble since the Ork attack, and it appeared that some spots had even been lit aflame, for parts of the metal were scorched black. Despite a fair bit of damage, the buildings making up the settlement appeared to have taken more of a beating. Wishing to take a closer look - all of them - the three Harlequins tweaked the optics of their masks and zoomed in on the human town. Most of the structures were put together with stone and sheets of metal that were pockmarked with a multitude of bullet holes. Any wood that may have been in the town was likely burnt or being stored away to be fed to the flames, with the exception of a single post in the center of town. Several of the buildings that did remain were in varying states of disrepair or had already been stripped for resources, particularly the smaller structures that likely belonged to shops or homes. Even the barracks and town hall had suffered the Orks rabid search for goods, though the hall looked to be in the greatest shape, likely because it featured a spike coming from the roof from which a body had been impaled and many more were hung.

Despite being night time, the three Eldar found it strange that so few Orks patrolled the walls and streets. An Ork's hide was so thick they would have paid the cold hardly any heed at all, thus, whatever figure was in command would have been likely to order more of the greenskins to keep an eye on things. Giving the town a closer inspection, Jester's eyes looked everything over once more, though he eventually set his sights on the wooden post. Stuck to the wooden post was a single sheet of paper, which had on it a very crude and sloppily drawn image of a smiling man with shoulder length hair.

"Hey, I think they tried to draw me!"

"It would appear so; seems like you're a wanted man even by Ork standards."

"Why are there so few Orks on patrol?" Arhriban asked.

"I must be. It feels good knowing that my life has inspired the lesser creatures to pick up on some lessons in civility."

"It's a drawing, and a shit on at that. It's not as though they've written a book and become literate. Actually, that looks as if it belongs on the wall of one of the caves we've been staying in."

"Don't put them down my dear! I'm sure the brutes are doing their best to express their admiration for me."

"Will the two of you stop dawdling and focus on the matter at hand?"

"Lighten up Arhriban, I'm sure they're hiding in the buildings." Jester said in an attempt to reassure the warlock.

"Why would they be doing that? It's not in an Ork's nature to cower behind walls."

"Most likely for the very reason you approached me earlier. They're probably nervous about the explosions and crashes from the other day." said Countess.

"So they may be in there plotting an ambush as we speak then, is that it?"

"Are you scared for the lives of the Troupe or yourself?" The mime started chuckling himself.

"Pardon me for preferring to keep my presence hidden from those who want us dead, _Jester_." Arhriban quickly snapped back.

Before either one could continue to argue, the death jester cut in. "The two of you are beginning to sound a lot like little boys. Should we spend time debating over past actions, or set ourselves to figuring out a plan for tomorrow mornings attack?"

"What's to figure out?" Jester tapped the side of his mask and returned his sight back to normal. "It's a single outpost taken from the humans, so it's not as though the Orks have much firepower other than what they brought. Let's keep this simple. We'll be in and out; long enough to butcher the mongrels and hightail it out of there." He then turned to regard Arhriban. "Just in case they are preparing an ambush, I'll need you and your warlocks to play with their minds a bit tomorrow."

The high warlock's interest was now piqued. "Oh, and what is it you intend?"

"Come the morning I want you to start messing with their senses. I'd like the Troupe to be at the wall before they even realize there are any enemies nearby. After that… Oooh, feel free to get creative."


	13. Chapter 13

Though the sun would soon be rising it was dark when Jester opened his eyes. Stars dotted the sky and the mime imagined that he was looking at a great dark blanket covering the planet that had been stabbed countless times, and that each glowing dot was actually light from the other side. He knew that such wasn't the case; hell, he'd flown among the stars even as some were in the midst of exploding. Still, he liked to imagine other possibilities when he was alone with his thoughts. He lied still for several moments after he awoke, just as he always did, but there was business to attend to this day and the thrilling prospect of battle filled him with such excitement that he was on his feet much more quickly than most other mornings.

Not surprising there were a few other Harlequins who awoke early as well. They mostly sat in place and fooled around with their weapons and other trinkets while the others slept, but a couple were walking around; no doubt they were trying not to fall back asleep. Since their group had been inactive for so long, most of the Eldar there were used to getting up whenever they wanted or something needed doing, which wasn't very often in the desert.

Naturally Arhriban was already awake, and with him the rest of the warlocks. Since their power was pivotal to the initial combat Jester knew he could count on the High Warlock to be up early in preparation for the battle. As much as he enjoyed to give the other Eldar hell for being cautious, even he had to admit that Arhriban was incredibly practiced, and he was very precise in making sure a plan went off without any problems.

The master mime noticed that Countess too was among those who got up early. Jester spotted her sitting off to the side and had both of her pistols lying beside her completely dismantled; even the bullets were lying strewn around all the tiny parts. She seemed to be in the middle of cleaning them, which was somewhat of a ritual she had before fighting with them. The death jester liked to go into battle safe with the knowledge that her weapons were at the peak of their condition. Since she seemed busy, Jester didn't bother to approach, not that he had a mind to do so anyway. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Jester climbed the dune overlooking the sacked settlement. He brazenly stood atop the mound as his gaze fell over the town.

Though it was close, not even an hour had passed before the sun finally revealed itself. Once it began to rise over the horizon it didn't take long for the sun to start climbing more quickly until it was holding dominion in the sky. Despite the suddenness with which the sun rose, the temperature still had some catching up to do, for which the Harlequin Troupe was most thankful for.

Jester looked over the assembled group before they headed out to engage the brutal greenskins. Many of the Harlequins were holding elegant curved sword, or vicious wrist blades; as for the mime, he was more content to keep his daggers in hand. Some of the others had pistols similar to Countess', though they certainly lacked the same quality, and there were a few who wielded massive rifles fitted with a grim blade at their tip that made them look like scythes. It was these figures that Jester currently had his eye on, even as Countess stepped to his side.

"Think you'll be able to hear them shrieking from way over here?" He said wryly.

Due to the mask he wore, the other death jester's chuckle came out raspy and coarse. "I'm sure their screams will be heard for miles around in this desert master! I would honestly be more worried about whether or not you'll leave this battle with your own hearing intact."

"Oh? I might be too busy stabbing the hell out of them to realize you're even picking them off from way over here."

The death jester laughed as he hefted the cannon to his shoulders. At that moment, Countess prodded the master mime in his side as Arhriban approached the duo.

"Do you think you're about ready to get in there and tear into the Orks? You do realize that my warlocks and I can't keep the illusion spell up _that_ long you know, yes? The greenskins will eventually begin to see through it at some point, and when that happens they'll see a large mess of us standing on this hill."

Jester looked past the High Warlock toward the dune he'd just walked down from. There were four others standing atop the small hill, which meant that he'd left the other two warlocks in his group to get their new camp set up. Sure enough, each of them seemed unnaturally fixated on the settlement, and, as Jester stared at the small group, he felt a swell of power coming from them.

"Oh alright, alright, I get your point. I'll give the order for the Troupe to move out. Try not to pass out while we're moving into position."

"Ey Grock, come wif me on patrol."

"No, Dagga tol' me ta stay righ' 'ere an' watch da walk in. Go patrol yo'self." Grock calmly replied.

His friend was persistent though, and continued to plead. "But patrol so borin' alone!"

"No Brog, Dagga not in good mood since desert make booming sounds."

"E neva even leaves 'is buildin'. 'E wo-"

"No!"

Grock glared at his friend Brog - who's girth was so great he almost filled the town's entrance stand, and nearly came up to the overhanging greeting sign. With rippling muscles tightly packed beneath a stretch of thick heavy skin as tough as hide, and wearing armor that seemed to be nothing more than random pieces of metal, cloth, and whatever else the Brog could find, he stood as a fine specimen to the Ork kind. Often headstrong and belligerent, Brog didn't always think things through and often lived in the moment, but he was a good Ork and didn't raise too much trouble against the boss. He was one of the younger mob boys, and still looked up to the older shooters like Dagga, or Grock.

He carelessly allowed his chain rifle to dangle from his listless hand as he gave his friend a beseeching look. "Why Dagga so worried over exploding?"

"Me don't know…" Grock took a moment to think. "We in new land, maybe he make sure it not a enemy. Don't forget dat Dagga sent some o' the boys out there ta scout the sands."

"Really? And dey're lookin' for a enemy out dere?" Brog lifted his rifle and held it in with both hands, his stance much more imposing. "What you think? Explosion come from a enemy, or it just sound in da desert?"

"Don' know, it pretty quiet usually. May-"

Grock was suddenly cut off by a piercing shriek from above. He and Brog looked around wildly before the younger Ork grabbed his friend by the shoulder and turned him to stare at where he was pointing. One of the watchers standing atop the ruins of a watch tower was looking into the sky and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Grock, what happening?"

Brog was scared senseless, but before Grock could try and calm him down, the Ork watcher's body swelled before their eyes and burst as if a grenade went off inside him.


	14. Chapter 14

Grock turned to look at Brog. A shout was forming on his lips. For all his muscle, Brog was also fast and agile, and the more seasoned Ork had it in mind to send off the younger so that he may alert Dagga that they were under attack. However, as his lips furled against teeth, the order he was about to give and he instead tried to shout a warning to his hot-headed young friend.

"Brog, get outta da way!" Grock shouted as he raised the crude, hand-made machine gun in his hands that Orks were infamous for and pointed it at his friend.

However, instead of listening obeying the demand, Brog started to turn and see for himself what his friend was so concerned about. With his custom machine rifle already held at the ready, the bulky Ork started to pivot in place so that he would be ready to fire at a moments notice. He never got the chance to fire. Before Brog could finish spinning around he let out an angry snarl that quickly became a sharp cry of pain.

A small, lithe figure wearing some type of shifting black and white outfit and a smiling mask attacked Brog with two curved daggers. Brog only saw them for a second, but in that time he could see just how sharp they were, and, on the side of the blade which faced away from the front, they were viciously serrated like a set of little curved fangs. The masked assailant plunged a dagger into each of the Ork's wrists as he came to face the smaller figure. While painful, and Brog could certainly tell that bone was severed, Orks were a hardy species capable of taking a severe thrashing, but when the masked killer twisted the knives to break apart bone and churn the flesh, even the young Ork found the experience excruciating. As a result, he dropped the gun as his hands became useless.

Once his assailant noticed the gun fall he mercilessly tore the daggers from the Ork's wrists, and the serrations ripped Brog's wound apart even more until it resembled a hole filled with bloody ground meat and bits of ivory sticking from the jumbled mass. The _thing_ attacking him let out a shrieking laugh as the Ork's raised his useless, trembling hands. But pain gave way to rage, and Brog silenced his attacker's laugh with a mighty roar of defiance.

The Ork started to swing at the masked figure, that mask which made him feel as though his assailant were smirking. But the attacker was much nimble with his small frame, and ducked beneath the blow that would have sent him sailing to the side. As the swing went wide overhead, the figure started to laugh again as he stabbed upward with one of his daggers and shoved the cruel metal piece into the Ork's elbow, which he twisted around viciously.

Grock desperately wished to help his screaming friend who was slowly being torn apart in front of his eyes, but the older veteran found himself struck with a terror the likes he'd never known before. Though his friend desperately needed aid, the Ork felt as though cold tendrils had wrapped themselves around his body, binding him from moving even an inch. Yet, he felt no inclination to run away, he struggled with the desire to rush forward and beat down the arrogant whelp attacking such an Ork as proud as Brog, but his body refused to listen. In his mind he knew what to do, but there was nothing he could do to stir himself from this clenching fear. Then he realized what was really happening.

He recalled past experiences in which he was forced to deal with this same feeling before. One such occasion had nearly cost him his life in fact, if not for their Mob boss Dagga leaping into the fray to save his life. It was that moment where Grock had sword to follow Dagga faithfully no matter the other Ork's decisions, and thus far he hadn't steered his boyz wrong yet.

It was not the pitiful humans of the Imperial Empire that the Orks were so used to fighting during that skirmish, rather, it had been Eldar. Encountering them was so rare that the thought hadn't crossed his mind until now. He recalled his moment of petrified terror on that battlefield from so long ago, as a tall and agile fighter prepared to bear down on him and cut the Ork to shreds with that long sword. The Eldar looked almost mystical as they fought against entire scores of Orks, and many of Grock's kind could do nothing but tremble before their beautiful, yet merciless onslaught. It was his first time fighting against the Eldar, and the Ork had never dealt with mystics before, and so he had no way to tell that he was being manipulated from afar. If not for Dagga breaking through to the front lines when he did and putting a bullet right through that Eldar's helmet, it was very likely that the warrior would have taken Grock's head off for sure.

It was then that Grock realized that the Eldar their group was tracking were the ones attacking. After his startling revelation the veteran Ork could feel his body resist the magic of the Eldar mystics more and more. The cold tendrils that seemed to have been wrapped so tightly around his body before were now weaker, and if he struggled just a little harder he felt as though he'd be able to break their bind on him. Grock kept his eyes trained on Brog as the younger Ork was cruelly being cut to ribbon before his eyes, and new levels of fury fueled him on.

As for Brog, he had finally fallen to his knees from the savage attacks that the masked Eldar swiftly delivered. Both hands useless and one arm mangled so badly that it could only hang limp, the younger Ork had tried to nurse his ruined limb with his one good arm. However, before he could cradle his devastated arm, the masked assailant unleashed a rapid flurry of swings which quickly tore through his armor and started to rend his chest. The Eldar was so enthusiastic with what he was doing to the Ork before him that it wasn't long before segments of Brog's rib cage became exposed as blood poured down into the sand at his knees.

Bloodied and beaten, the younger Ork could last no longer against the furious onslaught, and he started to swoon. However, realizing that the Ork before him was finally done for, the smiling Eldar finished him before he could die from the injuries. As the large brute collapsed and fell forward, his killer swiftly swiped at the Ork's neck and cut it open, watching with amusement as blood from his mouth mingled with that of the latest wound.

The Eldar callously kicked the falling Ork in his chest, which sent the body sprawling backward, and Grock got a good look at his butchered friend. Lying in the sands covered in his own blood, the younger Ork was terribly mutilated and even with a doc on hand there would have been little hope of saving him. The veteran Ork roared with renewed fury, his fists rising to match the anguish he felt.


	15. Chapter 15

Stirred to action after watching his friend's death, Grock almost immediately aimed his machine pistol and unleashed a hail of fire where the smiling man stood. However, seeing that the Ork was freed from the warlocks' power, Jester leapt back through the entrance and took cover behind the metal wall that surrounded the small settlement.

Grock rained fire down on his position for a few moments more before accepting that the metal was too thick for the shots to tear through and started to fiddle around with something on his metal studded vest. The master mime could hear other gunshots, as well as the clang of metal on metal, which told him that the other Orks from this group had finally come out to fight off his troupe. Jester stayed hidden for a moment longer as he tried to imagine where the Ork might be holding his gun. He pictured the great brute holding the gun level with his chest as he fired. Even if the greenskin kept the weapon lowered while not firing it, once Jester showed himself it was likely that the mongrel would take the same stance again. The Athistaur shook his head and raised his right hand before stepping into the open again.

As the Eldar revealed himself, Grock was waiting with the gun raised. Fortunately, such a readied position was exactly what the mime had been hoping for. As the Ork started to squeeze off more fire, Jester stared at the barrel and clenched his upraised hand into a fist. Using his telekinesis, the Eldar rogue crushed barrel of the gun.

Grock swore as he realized that he was hammering the trigger down uselessly, and, in that time, the smiling figure took the opportunity to dash forward. However, after the Ork dropped the broken gun, Jester noticed that he was holding onto a small, and somewhat round metal object. Grock threw the ball at his foe, who was unprepared to counter an additional attack from the Ork. Despite its diminutive size, the metal object was heavier than it looked, and hit Jester as if he'd just taken a swing from the Ork.

The Eldar stumbled back a couple steps as he recoiled from the blow. When he next looked up he took notice that the Ork managed to pull a large combat knife from his boot, which he held with the blade pointed down in his fist. However, despite being disoriented, the greenskin chose not to rush him. Instead Grock chose to back away from the entrance where the small metal object bounced to after hitting Jester, falling into a combat crouch. Without a second thought, Jester copied his adversary and gave into the momentum of the recoil in order to fall further back himself. No sooner did he do so when a large explosion rocked the area.

Sand was kicked up all around the entrance, obscuring the Eldar from seeing anything beyond the walls. As he rolled onto his back, the sign post that hung above the entrance and showed the town's name went sailing through the air and embedded itself in the sand beside the mime. Jester continued to lie in the sand for a moment to grope around his body. If there was one thing Orks were known for, it was a love for carnage and tearing things apart. Finding no shrapnel embedded in his body, Jester jumped to his feet and stared into the shifting cloud of sand.

The master mime reached through the haze with his mind. He pushed through the physical fog created by the disturbed sand and saw through to what was on the end. The Ork was crouched defensively, though he appeared to be distracted with the sound of battle elsewhere, and the greenskin would periodically check over his shoulder.

Jester focused his foresight on the Ork's position and charged at him through the sand cloud. Naturally light on his feet, the Eldar rogue approached Grock while he was caught off guard. Moving in for the attack, the Athistaur leapt into the air, high above the Ork, and came down with his blades at the ready.

Grock managed to look back at the sand cloud just in time for the smiling Eldar to erupt from the fog. When he saw his attacker come from above, the Ork figured such an elegant trick to be befitting for an Eldar, but the daring maneuver still surprised him. The Ork swiftly swiped upward with his combat knife, using the giant of a blade to block most of Jester's own furious swipes until the Eldar could be rebounded. Grock snarled and Jester sneered as his surprise attack failed to catch the Ork off guard, and leapt a safe distance away from the brutish greenskin. Both, Eldar and Ork, fell into an aggressive stance and looked as though they were ready to charge each other, but neither one moved an inch.

As the two figures stared off amid the wreckage of the town with the crack of gunfire going off all around them, a hollowed and happy voice came out from the smiling mask.

"What was that you called your friend before I tore into his wrists, _Brog_ was it? I've been curious as to how Orks come up with names for their kin. Do you just take random letters and add something to them that would make a person go _ugh_?"

Grock said nothing, though he furled his lips in anger and his eyes gleamed with malice in the desert sun. His muscles tensed as though he were preparing to rush the Eldar, but Grock did nothing but listen, waiting for the rogue to make the first move.

"I really had fun killing him you know. I always enjoy the opportunity to kill an Ork over anything else. Your kind are so hardy, like weeds! You just can't kill an Ork outright the traditional way in most cases. Hell, if I were to carve out your heart right now you'd probably still have enough spirit in you to clobber me with your fists or gut me with that knife. Making an Ork hurt is what I enjoy – making your indomitable wills breaks until you're begging for the mercy of death rather than its honor. It's win-win really…" Jester started to laugh as the Ork's breathing deepened and he grew more furious. "I get to hurt something real bad _and_ I get the satisfying knowledge of knowing that I wiped away just a bit more of the filth floating around this galaxy!"

"I'll rip that mask off your face just to tear off your jaw, coward!" Grock roared.

Jester started to laugh so wildly that he doubled up and bent over. Grock took advantage of his foe's apparent aloofness and barreled toward the cackling figure. However, as the Ork closed the distance between them and he went in for a swipe, Jester jumped back and rolled to his feet. Still the mime laughed, only now he pointed a finger at the Ork as he did so.

"_Brog_ was such a disappointment! It's been ages since I killed anything smarter than a dog out here, and I was really hoping your friend would put up more of a challenge. Alas, the fight was terribly short-lived – I could have killed a child and known no difference!"

Grock unleashed another furious roar in response to the mime's jeering taunts. Jester could tell that he had truly angered the Ork now. The shout was fueled by such rage that the Athistaur could have sword the sand beneath his feet shook. At the most, Jester felt his own body quiver from the greenskin's booming voice. He knew now that the Ork would be truly vicious in his attacks, and smiled to himself as he prepared to defend himself. Sure enough, Grock charged at for Jester at full speed, thundering his way toward the slim Eldar. The master mime was actually surprised that the Ork didn't lose his footing in the sand, and realized then that he was fighting against one that had been around long enough to learn a few tricks.

"Perfect… Come at me now big boy!"

The great brute was more than happy to oblige. As Grock drew closer to the masked Eldar he jumped and put his feet together for a double kick, his body becoming a veritable missile. Jester had been confident that the greenskin would have been too angry to think, and would simply run in wildly swinging that knife. This kick wasn't what he had expected. With only a few seconds to prepare, the Eldar did the only thing that he could think of. He put his arms before him side-by-side, holding the blades away from his face as he did so, and blocked himself from a direct hit. Even still, due to the Ork's great girth, Jester was hit hard and dropped his daggers as he flew back from the strike.

The mime slammed against the wall and slid off until he fell to the sand, disoriented as he picked himself up off the ground. The Eldar brought a hand to his head as he shook himself back to stability. However, no sooner than right after realizing that the Ork's attack had actually knocked him down did Jester realize that his foe was already getting ready to attack again. He spun to his side as the brute came in with an overhead slash, barely managing to dodge having his chest cut open.

The veteran was more adept than Jester had given him credit for, and the mime grimaced behind the mask in frustration. When he wanted a tougher challenge, he hadn't imagined being disarmed and fighting against an Ork that actually knew what it was doing. As of now the dimwitted cretin was too angry for any mind games, and it possessed such physical strength that not even telekinesis would prove effective in trying to stop the greenskin. With the fight looking like the Ork might actually gain the better of him, Jester chuckled nervously.

As the Ork turned its head toward him, prepping to attack the Eldar once again, Jester looked for where he dropped his daggers. It wasn't hard for him to locate them, as they seemed to burn like fire under the intense sunlight. Lying in the sand a few feet from where the Ork stood, Jester knew he wouldn't be able to run to them before his foe was upon him, but they were still his best option if he was going to fight the Ork. He sprang for the daggers right as Grock was taking off just for him.

The Ork noticed his foe taking off to the side and moved to intercept him. The masked Eldar moved swiftly, and Grock barely allowed him to slip out of range. However, instead of chasing his target down, the Ork threw his combat knife at the rogue's back. The blade flew for his target swiftly, but the Eldar turned around just in time to deflect the incoming missile away from him, but Grock wasn't too concerned. He figured that the Eldar would have been using some of its mind magic to keep his senses alerted, all Grock wanted to do was distract the fool for a just a moment. Even as the combat knife had been flying toward its target, he continued to run at the mime; now, just as the Eldar finished knocking the knife aside, he found the massive Ork bearing down on him.

Grock threw a straight jab at the mime's head with his right fist, but the Eldar was quick to react and he weaved away from the blow.

Immediately after dodging the Ork's punch, Jester unleashed a lightning quick flurry of finger jabs into the brute's torso. He ended off with a thunderous palm strike that rippled throughout the Ork's abdomen beneath his hand. The strike was so great that it rattled the greenskin's insides and caused the Ork to fall onto one of his knees.

However, the brute wasn't ready to go down even after such a penetrating attack, and it lunged at the master mime using his hind leg to spring forward with momentum. This time the Ork tried to get a jab in with his left hand, but Jester easily knocked the attack aside by striking at his foe's wrist. The greenskin followed up his left jab with an elbow strike with his right, aiming high for Jester's head. The Athistaur managed to get his arms up in time to block and overturn the attack by throwing the Ork's arm down. He then looked to face the greenskin, only to find that it wasn't standing to face him.

After having his attacked thrown back, the Ork crouched low while Jester was dropping his block for retaliation. The Ork sprang forward and slammed his helmeted head into the Eldar's gut. The blow was strong, terribly so, and the oxygen was expelled from Jester's lungs even before he flew through the air and crashed into the ground. The mime lied on the ground in a daze, staring up at the sky from his back for what seemed like an eternity before the heavy Ork fell on top of him.

The massive brute kept Jester pinned beneath him, and gasping for breath, as he unleashed a devastating pounding on the Eldar's smiling faceplate. The mime blacked out momentarily from the whiplash of his head being beaten before coming to. The Ork's blows were savage, already the faceplate had been pressed into Jester's flesh and started to cut into his face. One punch in particular seemed to catch him in his eye socket because the mask was having so much force strike against it. If Jester didn't get the Ork off of him soon it would very well break his skull in. The master mime scoffed at such an idea – that an animal would be able to kill him so easily.

Beginning to squirm so that it was more difficult to hit him, Jester's hands flailed around wildly near his hip and he tried to lift himself up just a few inches. When the Ork knocked him down with the headbutt it had caused him to land on top of one of his daggers, and the hilt now pressed itself firmly into the Eldar's back. With the brute constantly trying to bash his head in, Jester found it difficult to move around enough to dislodge the knife. Then he managed to twist himself in a way that forced the Ork to move with him, and the mime's hand found the dagger handle.

Jester grabbed hold of the weapon and quickly brought it up. The Ork was so hell-bent on beating the Eldar rogue into submission that he never noticed when his enemy rearmed himself. Even as he continued to rain his fists down on Jester's faceplate, the master mime stabbed the Ork from under his jaw and into his brain. As the Ork jerked in reaction to the quickness with which he'd been killed, the mime twisted the dagger while it was still deeply embedded.

Grock shuddered while leaning over Jester before finally going limp. Jester swore as the full weight of the Ork's corpse collapsed on top of him. After the beating he'd taken at the foul creature's hands he could barely muster the strength to push the body off of him, but he was far too disgusted to just lie there with it on top of him and he pushed the corpse off after a short breather, pulling the dagger from the Ork's head as he sat up.

Jester rose to his feet and looked around for his other dagger, which was only a few steps away from where he stood. With the threat to his own life now ended, the master mime listened to the sounds of fighting coming from elsewhere in the vicinity.

Before attacking the two greenskins who'd been at the front of the human settlement, Jester had ordered the other Troupe members to scale the walls while he drew attention to the entrance. Since his forces surrounded the town fairly quickly, any of the patrols that were around the perimeter would have been put down during his first encounter. That meant any of the fighting now taking place was further into the ruined settlement, and Jester was guessing that would imply that combat was being met just at the barracks. That was where most of the Orks were bound to have been gathered before early morning.

Jester glanced down at the Ork body at his feet and followed the trail of blood coming out of its mouth and the bottom of its jaw. Then he took a single deep breath and took off at a jog toward where the rest of the fighting was.


	16. Chapter 16

**Playing with Chaos – 16**

The thunderous crack of what seemed a hundred shots rang continuously through the air, and shouts of pain and bloodlust carried through the air. Yet, to the High Warlock and his crew, such sounds mattered little to their group. As support they were able to stay back from the brunt of the combat, a position on the battlefield that Arhriban was greatly fond of. Though, not for the reasons that Jester enjoyed poking fun at him; Arhriban scowled at the thought that he was a coward.

Standing atop one of the sand dunes overlooking the town, close to the pits that the Troupe had slept in the previous night, the High Warlock surveyed the settlement turned battlefield. During the initial moment prior to combat being joined, Arhriban and his warlock underlings performed as Jester suggested, and lulled the Ork patrols and watchmen into a false sense of security. Unless one of the Harlequins were to walk up to one of the greenskins outright, there was little chance that any of the Orks would have even noticed the Dark Eldar approaching. Arhriban had led the casting flawlessly, and, before the Troupe had even left their makeshift camp, those in the settlement were already under their spell. However, it wasn't long before the first of the shots and shouts of surprise could be heard, and the warlocks quickly had more to do before the fighting would be over.

For the next stage of their psychic assault it was mandatory that none of the Warlocks lose any of their concentration, except for the High Warlock. Such a title was no small thing among the Dark Eldar. Arhriban had been a practitioner of his psychic powers for as long as he cared to remember, and he trained himself rigorously without end. He went through the years treating each day like a training exercise, and his strict routine eventually earned him a profound development of psychic might and turned him into an incredible tactician.

However, there weren't many among the immortal Dark Eldar who stuck to such a tight doctrine, and others advanced slower than he did, such as the warlocks whom Arhriban currently overlooked in an attempt to whip them into shape. Fortunately, Jester saw fit to leave two shield guards with the five warlocks; each one wielded a large tower shield with a curved bottom ending in a spike, and a flat top; looking at the shield from the front would have shown a black metal surface, but on the holder's side the shield was clear as glass. The High Warlock was admittedly thankful for their presence, not for himself, but rather the weaker warlocks, for the guards put their minds at ease.

Arhriban rolled his eyes in annoyance, glad for the blank orange faceplate that served as his mask, though it wasn't as if the other warlocks or guardsmen would have noticed. The warlocks were busy channeling their power to blanket the settlement with feelings of doubt and weakness among the Ork ranks, a task which kept them far too busy to look elsewhere but the town. As for the shield guards, the one to Arhriban's right was busy scanning the desert for threats, while his companion faced the settlement. The High Warlock could guess by the other Dark Eldar's body tension that he greatly desired to join in the fighting, which wasn't likely to happen.

Standing in the middle of the four warlocks in order to better direct their minds, Arhriban looked toward the center of the town. Much of the combat that he could hear seemed to be focused toward the town square, with even more shouts and shots adding to the noise with every passing minute.

The High Warlock was amazed that so many Orks were holed up this well inside the town. He was confident that their numbers weren't too high, and most of the new shots sounded faintly of Eldar weaponry, but that the fighting was managing to last for so long surprised him. Depending on their fortifications, and even he had to admit that Orks were particularly adept at building makeshift forts, the greenskins could stay shut up for days taking pot shots at the Harlequins whenever they showed themselves. In an attempt to turn the tide of battle, the High Warlock started to shift the flow of his companions' power toward the center.

Integrating himself into their spell, he imagined a great black cloud with bursts of purple lightning coursing through it form over ravaged settlement. There were none others who saw this, not even the warlocks making it, for they were too focused on merging their power to direct it themselves. It was the chaotic feelings of paranoia, fear, and doubt made manifest. When immersed in it, the targets of the warlocks would find themselves in the vice group of a terrible fear. It was certainly possible to work one's way out of such a plague of doubts, but most fighters found themselves so caught up in the illusion of fear that they could no longer use rationality to free themselves, and certainly no Ork would be able to pull off such a feat.

Arhriban was on the cusp of blackening whatever hope the Orks' might have possessed when he heard the shout from his guardsman.

"Ambush! They're attacking from behind!"

As soon as he heard the word of warning, the High Warlock severed his link to the spell and disrupted the channel that the other warlocks were in. Reacting off instinct, Arhriban whirled to the right, moving quickly despite the robes and putting himself behind the shield guard who made the warning. However, two of the others weren't so quick to respond to the alert.

Sure enough, a small scouting party of Orks – four by the looks of it – were quickly approaching from the wasteland. As they ran over the dunes, rapidly closing the distance between them and the Harlequins with every step, the mob of greenskins unleashed a hail of bullet-fire from their pistols and machine guns. The guard who had his back turned took several rounds that punctured through his purple and white body armor and caused blood pump from the holes left by the bullets, with only a couple of rounds actually puncturing all the way through. Without doubt, the warlock who was hit faired far worse than the guard did. Wearing ornamental robes much like Arhriban's, though gar less gaudy and missing several more layers, there was little armor to protect the sorcerous Eldar. The Ork bullets bit into the warlock, tearing his body to shreds just as easily as it ripped through the cloth on his back. The Orks rained so much fire down on their position that a couple of the warlock's limbs were sheared off completely; it looked to be both legs and an arm. Fortunately though, due to their position, the other warlocks were spared from sharing an equally gruesome fate.

"Fall down the dune, now!" Arhriban yelled at the warlocks, who quickly dropped and rolled down the small hill as far as they could. He could sense that they were close to panicking, and he got the impression that not a single one of them was used to personally dealing with a threat before. _Wonderful, my luck would naturally make me into a babysitter for these idiots. At least they're safe for now…_

With the survivors of the initial assault now hidden away, Arhriban turned his attention on the encroaching party of Orks. His count from earlier had been correct, there were four of them approaching, and quickly. If something wasn't done soon the mob would overtake their position within minutes and they'd all probably be killed on the spot. No matter his rank, the High Warlock could always count on the Ork shock troops being too stupid to recognize a high-profile target when they saw one. Fortunately, Arhriban had no intentions of allowing the Orks to capture him, let alone kill him.

He knew right away that none of the warlocks would have any serious firepower on their person; at the most they would carry a pistol, which would have lacked any true stopping power against even a single Ork, let alone four of them. Instead Arhriban put his head close to the remaining guard, who was dressed similarly to his fallen partner.

"What weapons do you have?"

"Only a pistol, machine gun, and grenade or two, High One."

It wasn't much, but since they couldn't be picky about resources Arhriban settled with what he had. Turning so that he could look over his shoulder, the High Warlock called to his subordinates. "One of you hand me your hallucinogen grenade."

The warlock lying closest to him erect along the dune side fiddled around at his belt for a small ball that, once unchained from its clip, he tossed toward Arhriban's outstretched hand. The toss would have fallen short, but the High Warlock seized it with his psychosis and brought it the rest of the way to him.

"Plant your shield in the ground and get your grenades ready, then hold for my mark." The guard did as ordered. As he moved to follow the High Warlock's command, the Orks thought that their target might have been prepared to move and unleashed another hail of fire that was repelled by the Eldar shield. Arhriban eyed the approaching Orks with disdain, growing angry by the mere expression of bloodlust that was so typical of the brutes. "Hand me a grenade…"

The guard nodded and held one of his explosives out for Arhriban to take, and the Warlock did so. A few seconds after he did so, the Orks ran within throwing distance. "On three throw your grenade to the left while I throw to the right." The High Warlock primed the explosive given to him as he spoke and the guard did the same. "One… Two… Three!"

They threw their grenades in unison; two black spheres against the bright blue sky sailing through the air toward their marks. The Orks recognized the threats and bunched closer together toward the middle of where the explosions would be, running faster in an attempt to get away from the blasting site. However, they realized too late that this was exactly what their foe was looking forward to.

As the mob rushed forward, eager to get away from the grenades off to their sides, Arhriban primed the hallucinogen grenade that all Warlocks carried on their person and threw it into their path. The greenskins were so focused on escaping the blast radius of the first set of explosions that they failed to notice the third grenade until they were almost on top of it. The Orks seemed like they were about to split apart in an attempt to escape from this new threat when the first round of grenades detonated and kicked up a storm of sand that caused the brutes to press together. A few moments later the hallucinogen grenade detonated as well while the Orks were standing right over it.

Dark smoke mingled with the sandstorm raised by the first grenades to create phantom figures that quickly surrounded the group. These shadowy entities took on the appearance of Eldar warriors who brandished their weapons threateningly and seemed to dance in circles around and between the Orks. To their credit, the greenskinned brutes fell into a panic as they breathed in the odorless fumes from the grenade and yelled out in terror. It wasn't long before the lot of them turned their weapons on the phantom dancers surrounding them.

However, before the greenskins could run out of ammo shooting at ghosts and visions, Arhriban took advantage of the situation. Holding his hand out like a cupped claw before him, the High Warlock glared at an Ork who was off to the side fighting with a pistol and assailed his mind with visions of horror and dread, and, to a degree, he took control of the Ork.

Arhriban forced the Ork to see his allies as ravenous, bloodthirsty monsters. The Ork tried to stumble back and collapse in fright, but the High Warlock issued orders for the vermin to kill the demons before they got to him first. Rabid with fear, the greenskin still managed to respond like an automaton and raised his weapon against his own companions. Initially unprepared to be attacked by one of their own, an Ork went down almost immediately to a shot in his back and head.

The other two turned, but one received a bullet in his eye for all the trouble it caused him. The final Ork raised his own gun to defend himself, but Arhriban's puppet moved faster. The mind controlled Ork squeezed a round off in his partner's knee, causing the greenskin to drop to the ground and clutch at his wound, but the shooter didn't relent. The puppet popped off two more rounds in his foe's chest and then fired off another between the Ork's eyes. As he fell back dead, the lone surviving Ork approached his fallen comrade and started to shoot more rounds into the dead body.

He fired round after round without stopping and laughed as he did so. It was a mad laugh; a sound that was almost disturbing to hear coming from such a guttural creatures. The Ork continued to pull the trigger of his gun long after the crude device ran out of ammo, and even after the phantoms around him had dissipated. What finally caused him to snap out of his delusional rampage was the soft sound of cloth scraping against the ground.

The Ork turned around in shock, only to be disoriented by the swirling purple and green of Arhriban's robes; even the black metal outfitting the High Warlock's body seemed to stab at the greenskin's eyes. The Ork let out an unintelligible bark of surprise and pointed his gun at the Eldar's head, only to hear nothing more than a faint click and realize that the chamber of the gun was empty. The bewildered Ork froze and, to his credit, Arhriban reacted swiftly.

Whipping his arm out to the side, a small black pommel etched with thin silver lines fell into his hand from within the folds of his robes, which he deftly caught. Less than a second later, a thin, shimmering blade of silver extended from the black pommel. Sharp on both sides, the blade almost appeared triangular at the base, but quickly narrowed before slightly widening against into a diamond at the tip. Arhriban lashed at the Ork's neck with a single swift movement, and the greenskin's head fell from his shoulders, a clean cut scoring the wound as blood streamed out from the bloody stump of the collapsed body.

The guard approached Arhriban with his shield at the ready, though it was clear that the threat was gone.

"How are the other warlocks?"

"They appear a bit shaken, but they're in good health nonetheless." The guard planted his shield in the ground and looked at Arhriban with amazement. "You were spectacular High One! You fought so flawlessly!"

Instead of accepting the compliment, Arhriban brushed it aside. "Two of our men died; we reacted too slowly. Hmm…" The High Warlock turned and looked past the guard to the settlement. "Go and collect the survivors. We're moving into the town to support the others."

"Sire?"

"The spell matrix was broken when we took cover – setting it up again would take too much time. If we're going to be of any help to the assault force then we'll need to head in there ourselves."

The guard nodded his understanding of the situation and moved out to do as he was bid. Instead of waiting for the others to assemble, Arhriban continued on by himself, his gaze unwavering as he marched toward the settlement.


	17. Chapter 17

Something was wrong, Countess could tell that much almost right away as she remained hidden behind a large clunk of metal debris; ruin that had been left behind by the Ork raiding party.

Until now the Orks had been putting up a decent fight while holed up in their captured barracks, taking crack shots as soon as one of the Eldar dared show themselves. With nowhere for them to escape the Orks fought like animals backed into a corner, and their wild shooting made getting any closer to their hideout slow. Worse, the barracks had a clear line of fire for nearly 20 and 30 yards, which gave the shooters opportune targets from nearly any firing hole they defended from. But Countess and the rest of the Harlequin troupe were determined to rout the greenskinned brutes, and dug into their own positions around the barracks.

However, a few moments ago something seemed to come over the cornered Orks. As the Eldar renegades attempted to penetrate the Orks' defenses with feints, and other daring maneuvers, more and more bullets seemed to find their mark in Eldar bodies.

What had previously been a panicked mob of brutes suddenly seemed to have become a trained military force. The Orks were now quicker to detect their ploys, and their shots were fired with much greater efficiency. Several of the Harlequins already laid dead or dying, their blood seeping into the thirsty sand around the barracks. Those who remained of Jester's Troupe started to grow discouraged by the strong resistance they suddenly found themselves facing, and it took all they had not to turn away in defeat by the seemingly impenetrable fortress.

One of those who had fallen did so near where Countess kept hidden. Unfortunately when they died misfortune left their body in plain sight of the barracks. Knowing that the poor fellow might have much needed resources on his corpse, the death jester slowly started to peek around the corner of her barricade. Yet, almost as soon as she did so, she was forced to duck her head behind safety after a quick burst of fire came from the building and bullets rattled against her cover.

Countess swore at the sudden ferocity she and the troupe found themselves dealing with and, with nothing else for her to do, she checked how much ammo remained in her guns.

When Countess and the rest of Jester's troupe blew open the walls near the town center things seemed to progress according to plan. Lulled into a heightened sense of security by Arhriban and his warlocks, the Orks had been badly shaken by series of explosions. This made it easy for the band of warlocks outside the walls to get inside the minds of their foes and make their panic all the greater; there had even been some greenskins who stood petrified in fright as the Eldar bore down upon them.

However, though terrified, most of the Orks retained enough sense to fight back after their initial, especially when the bullets started to fly. Still that had been the easy part and, while the fighting had been bloody, victory couldn't have been more decisively in the hands of the Harlequin troupes. As this dawned on the greenskins they all but entered a full retreat back to the barracks, and while many Orks fell during their run, many more made it to the safety of their veritable fortress.

Then, once the Orks were inside, the trouble began and, no matter how much ammunition the Eldar tried to make the Orks use up, they seemed to have an unlimited supply on hand. To Countess it started to look as though a stalemate hung overhead as neither side stubbornly refused to budge. Then she spotted a familiar figure jogging toward them from where the human homes once stood before they were gutted by flames.

With a dagger held backward in each hand, Jester made his way toward his bunkered down forces. His arms and chest, and a bit of his mask as well, were covered in blood. As the mime drew closer, Countess also noticed that his mask was cracked badly on the forehead near his left eye. Though Jester moved quickly through the ruins, he did so with a caution that was almost paranoid; peeking around corners and constantly turning his head whenever he was exposed.

Still holding her guns, the death jester raised a hand into the air, careful that she didn't reach above her cover, and waved at him. Jester spotted the movement from around the corner of a wrecked home he was looking out from and nodded at his friend. With the coast seemingly clear he fixed his gaze on Countess and ran for her at a fast sprint. However, after he moved beyond the house, he was put in view of the barracks and he found bullets raining down on him. Jester quickly spun to his left and continued his sprint as the sand he previously stood upon was peppered with bullets. A line of fire trailed after him, but he moved too quickly for the Orks to aim at him accurately, and he slid behind cover with the death jester.

As he leaned against the metal barricade and panted for breath, Countess looked upon her bloodied friend. On impulse she dropped her guns and flung her arms around him.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"I've been hoping you would come any minute now! It's been horrible over here without you Jester! The Orks are firing at us too quickly, and none of us know what to do. We just can't seem to get any closer to them…" The death jester released her friend and leaned away to look him over again. "What happened to you? You look awful."

"Huh? I've been killing Orks. What else would I do out here?"

"Jester, your helmet is cracked."

"What?" The master mime dropped his daggers and reached a hand up to feel his head.

"Wrong side."

Grunting in response, Jester raised his other hand. After finding the mass of cracks near his eye and tracing some of the longer ones down the side of his cheek, he wailed in despair. "Nooo! That foul greenskin ruined my beautiful face!"

"How did this happen?"

"When I entered through the front gates there were two Orks stationed there. The first one went down easy enough, that's where most of this blood came from actually, but his companion was a bit tougher. He must've been a veteran, that or something happened to Arhriban and the others. One moment the brute was too terrified to move, and the next thing I knew he was coming at me with everything he had." The mime hung his head shamefully. "I feel so humiliated!"

Despite their situation, Countess chuckled lightly at her friend's sorrow. "I'm glad that you're alright Jester, but I fear you may be right about the warlocks. Everything was going so well right up until the Orks hid away in that barracks, and even then they were terribly disorganized! But, and I really hate to say it, they've recently been shooting back at us with aim _close_ to our own."

"Oooh, that's not good. So they have the place locked up nice and tight then?"

She nodded. "Yes. There appears to be a backdoor into the barracks, but nobody has been able to get in close yet, and the front is covered just the same."

"What about the sides?"

"We've been trying to distract them so that somebody can get in close and plant a bomb on the wall. A few of us got together and pooled our explosives together, but the runner we picked went down just on the other side of where we're hiding."

"Did he now?" Jester hummed in contemplation of the situation, and, looking down, pressed a thumb against the metal chin of his mask. When he next looked up at Countess he almost sounded amused. "Then I guess it's up to me to get those bombs since I'm the fastest one here."

"Can't you just use telekinesis and bring them here?"

"I could, but what are the chances that an Ork might notice a few bombs strapped together floating in the air and decide to shoot at it? I don't want to take that chance and waste any more resources than we already have. What are the explosives in?"

Countess sighed and shook her head not liking his idea very much, but ultimately agreeing with her companion. "You're right… We put the bombs in a satchel for the trouper to carry them in – it should still be clipped to his belt. But how are you going to get the explosives? There will be too many shooting for you to try blocking their fire with a shield."

"I'll have to run from cover to cover of course, but first I'll need a distraction. When I got beat by that Ork from earlier he broke my com device, could you call out and have a few guys who are up further jump out and start shooting? While the Orks are dealing with them I'll run over to the other block of debris just over there," Jester pointed to another chunk of metal several yards behind Countess. "That way I'll have a straight run to the body, we'll get another distraction in, I'll get behind here with you again. After that I'll just have to worry about getting up to the barracks in one piece."

Placing a few fingers on her collarbone, the death jester gave her friend one last look. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I always do."

Nodding her head, Countess pressed down on a small bit of padding on her outfit. "This is Countess. I need whoever is to the left of the barracks front entrance to shoot at the building and draw the Orks' fire."

_Countess, this is Rooshal responding. Might I ask why we're going to try distracting the greenskins?_

"Our leader has arrived to the battlefield and intends to retrieve the explosives. We're going to give blowing their wall down another shot."

_I hope he knows what he's doing…_

A moment later Countess and Jester heard several gunshots from up ahead, which was answered by many more just a few seconds later. At the first sound of bullets firing Jester sprang forward for the new cover. The master mime managed to move so quickly that he was already close to the chunk of debris when the Orks became aware of his movements, and their shots sank into the sand behind him. As he leaned against the debris, which was tall enough to let him remain standing, Jester looked into the sky and let out a thrilled laugh.

After taking a moment to look over the Eldar's corpse and locate the satchel containing the explosives, the mime signaled for Countess that he was ready for the next distraction.

Jester watched as she made the same movement as before and listened for the sound of shooting to follow. As soon as he heard the Orks return fire he once again jumped from cover and sprinted for the fallen trouper's body. Yet, this time the Orks inside started to fire at him almost as soon as he revealed himself, and he swore while realizing that they must have been directed to keep an eye on his position. No matter, he was still moving faster than the Orks could keep up, but he knew that safety would only be temporary for he'd eventually have to slow down to grab the explosives.

However, as he drew closer to the corpse a new idea came to him. Reaching a single hand forward and making a swiping motion with it, Jester used his telekinesis to cause a large cloud of sand to kick up. While he was blinded by the action, so too were the Orks inside the barracks, only he still remembered where the body lie.

As shots flew wildly through the sand cover, Jester came upon the fallen Eldar. He quickly stooped down and – with knife in hand – cut through the bonds that kept the satchel fixed to the trouper's belt and retrieved the explosives. Just as the cloud started to dissipate, the master mime was already turning the corner and dropping into a crouch next to Countess.

"There, that wasn't so hard."

"They almost caught onto what you were doing."

"Ah, but they didn't."

"No, but I'm sure they have an idea of what we're up to now."

"That's true, which is why, for this next part, I'll need almost all of you to leave cover and shoot at whatever holes they start firing from. Just please try not to hit me."

"_This_ sounds insane."

"But it's all we've got left! After those last two runs I don't expect them to take their eyes off of our position, so now we'll need to try and blind 'em while I make a run for it. Now, how do I get this thing to go off?"

Countess watched as Jester turned the satchel upside down and slipped the explosive out of the bag. Sure enough, there were five grenades all stuck together. On one side there was a strip of metal shaped like an X with small hooks at the end of each end, and on the other were the grenades. As Jester looked at the device it appeared that the four grenades on every end had their pins connected to the fifth by a wire coming from each.

"So all I have to do is stick this thing to the wall, and pull the pin from the middle grenade, right?"

"That's how it should work."

"_Should?_ Well that sounds comforting…"

"We're improvising as best we can, Jester."

To Countess' surprise, her friend reached forward and cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face so that he was looking into her eyes from behind his mask. "I know you are, and you're doing wonderful… Make the call."

Too shocked to pull away, the death jester placed a hand on her collarbone. "I need everyone surrounding the barracks to reveal themselves and open fire on the building. If you see shots coming from one of the windows, or anywhere else, cut them off. Jester is going to make a run with the explosive and knock a hole in that building."

_He wants us to do what? Does he realize how many of us could die doing this?_

"It is risky, but this is our last shot at wiping these things out. Be quick when you see one and do your best to stop them from shooting first."

_If these are his orders…then we'll obey them. May luck be with our leader. We'll be ready to go when you give the command."_

"Open fire on my count." The mime pulled away from Countess and moved to the edge of their cover as she started the count down. "Three. Two. One!"

From all around the barracks Harlequin troupers leaped from their cover and rained fire down on the building from all manner of weaponry: handguns, rifles, machineguns, and whatever else they had on them. Likely puzzled by the display, it took the Orks a moment to retaliate, but, before long, they did their best to return fire. As the area became filled with the sound of constant gunfire, Jester readied himself to make a run for the barracks. Countess too prepared to join the assault, and, seeing this, the mime looked at her before rushing off.

"I do love the tone of your voice when you're giving commands… You sound so strong."

The death jester cocked her head, wondering where this was coming from. "What?"

However, Jester only answered her with a laugh as he took off running for the barracks wall, bullets immediately trailing after him as he left cover. Countess swore and jumped out after him to provide him covering fire. With expert precision she shot at the firing holes that dotted the barracks wall wherever she saw a flash, quickly exterminating the gunmen inside. Though she knew it to be foolish, Countess looked away from the building to glance at friend's back as he made his mad dash to plant the explosive. As she stared after him, Countess found herself hoping he'd make it through the rain unscathed.


	18. Chapter 18

_This is stupid! This is really stupid!_ Was all that raced through Jester's mind while he sprinted for the barracks wall and bullets flew through the air overhead from in front and behind him.

The master mime ran as fast as he could over the sandy terrain. He didn't let onto it, but it was actually more difficult than he would have liked to move quickly through the fine dirt, but he made due nonetheless. To falter while out in the open could get him killed, and he was in no way ready to go down just yet.

The 30 yard sprint felt to him more like a mile long run, and he even started to worry about the possibility of being hit by either side. Jester trusted the other Eldar not to aim at him deliberately, but to best keep the Orks preoccupied from shooting him down they were forced to fire almost directly at the windows he was running before. In the heat of the moment there was certainly a chance that somebody might pull their trigger too soon or too late, and the mime would end up placing himself in the bullets trajectory.

There were so many shots going off at one time that Jester couldn't make out who was firing, but he knew that if he stopped moving then he'd be a dead man. The occasional spray of sand flying against his back from a bullet penetrating the ground behind him told the Harlequin all he needed to know. Which meant that at least some of the Orks were able to get a shot in, and that they had realized to make him a priority target.

Still, as he made his way closer to the barracks, Jester took solace in knowing that Countess was one of those watching over him. He'd never dare tell her so, but the mime had grown accustomed to relying on the death jester, and not just for her performance capability. True that she made for a valuable soldier, and he was always on the lookout for top-notch agents, but she'd come to represent something more to him.

Always expecting those that followed him to die, the mime wasn't used to being around anybody for very long. However, this fellow Harlequin had managed to outperform his every expectation. From the moment she decided to travel along with his Troupe, Countess was one of the few willing to subject herself to doing what needed to be done, no matter the difficulties involved. What was more…she always saw things through to their end. Unlike the mostly useless rabble who needed someone to do their thinking for them, the death jester was capable of working things out for herself.

If she wanted to, Jester knew she could easily find work as a mercenary. So why choose to side with a destructive warlord such as himself? She was an enigma to him, but one that he was thankful for, because he knew that his safety had been placed in capable hands.

And, just like that, Jester reached the wall. Looking back on the run that seemed to stretch on forever, he was surprised to find that it was already over, almost as quickly as a few deep breaths. However, he couldn't afford to relax just yet. The rest of his troupe was still busy covering him. Furthermore, it's not as if the Orks were totally defenseless against anybody who was right against the wall, and Jester expected that he'd start seeing dangerous devices falling from above.

The mime quickly reached into his satchel and produced field-made explosive. Turning the device over in his hands until he had it facing the right way, Jester stuck the bomb against the barracks wall and pulled the pin. Unsure of its detonation time, he turned and darted away from the explosive.

Within moments of having his back turned toward the device an intense explosion rocked the area, the Eldar felt an intense wave of heat assail him from behind. As he was lifted from his feet and thrown forward by the force of the explosion, Jester used his telepathy to shield himself. He tumbled lightly over the ground, but not nearly enough to knock him senseless due to the thin barrier that helped him to regain his footing more quickly.

The Troupe leader pressed himself flat against a chunk of stone that stuck from the ground nearby, and watched to see what would happen next as the other Eldar released a loud cheer for the devastation and success of their leader.

A large outpour of dust and dirt covered the area where the bomb had gone off. After it tore a hole through the stonework of the barracks, much of the stability surrounding the immediate area was weakened, especially due to the spread out nature of the explosion. This, in turn, caused a wide portion of the wall to collapse in on itself. While it seemed that the Orks inside had stopped firing at those gathered around outside, many of the Eldar continued to shoot into the building, and used the new opening to pour most of their rounds into.

Still leaning against the side of the great cement block, Jester spotted Countess making her way toward him. She still held both guns in her hand and periodically glanced toward the building to make sure any Orks didn't come pouring out.

Then Jester heard it; a sharp whistle in the air. Without having to tell her to get down, Countess took cover behind a slab of metal while he slipped behind the block he leaned against. Not far from where the death jester would have been standing had she continued running an explosion blew sand up into the air. A few more such explosions went off in rapid order after that, and the Eldar dove for safety from the rockets being fired from the barracks.

Moments later Jester heard the sound of soft thuds, like something thick falling into the sound, while some also clinked off of their cover. Soon afterward even more explosions rocked the area, so many that Jester was forced to grip the cement if he didn't want to risk falling to his feet. The sound of cheers was quickly replaced with shouts of dismay, and the Eldar quickly worked to regain a stronger position.

Then, without warning, an Ork grenade flew overhead and landed a few feet away from Jester, all but looking him in the eyes.

"Shit!"

The master mime reached out with a single hand and closed his fingers as though picking something up. The grenade lifted into the air and started to rise higher above him. Jester prepared himself to throw the device back over the block, but, as it passed over his head, the grenade exploded. However, to his surprise, the Eldar became enveloped in a thick black smoke, and from the sounds of it so too had other groups of his people. He silently thanked whatever gods might be looking down on him, for, despite the cracks in his mask, none of the smoke filtered in, which he was sure would have burned his eyes and lungs.

Suddenly, from in the direction of the barracks, a harsh voice yelled out over the din of battle. "Overrun their positions and bring me the head of everyone out there! We'll feast well tonight, boys!" Jeering laughter soon reached his ears, and the mime heard several chainsaws revving as the greenskins readied to move in for the kill.

_So that one must be Dagga…_

Jester had no doubt that there would be some Orks who stayed back from the main fighting, after all, it would be their job to lay down fire long enough for their brethren to get in close and butcher the Eldar attackers. Fortunately the Harlequins were not without their own backup weaponry, and the Orks had just revealed their intentions, so many of the Troupe would already be getting ready to fend off the vicious brutes. Furthermore, they still outnumbered the Ork raiding party by almost a dozen.

Dagga knew that he and his mob crew was finished, but that wouldn't stop the Ork from lashing out against his killers. If he was going to go down, Jester knew that he'd try to take down as many of his Troupes as was possible.

The master mime grinned beneath his mask.

If that was to be the case, then he would just have to start killing them before the Orks could inflict too much harm. Jester spun his daggers before gripping them tightly so that they were underhanded and dashed around the cement block.

When he emerged from the haze of smoke, it was to see nearly a dozen Orks climbing over the rubble left behind by the wall. Many of them clutched great blades with toothy chains lashed to the sides, which allowed them to cut through most obstacles with incredible ease. He'd have to be careful out there, or else the mime would find himself in pieces.

Looking to the sides, Jester discovered that most of the outer ring was enveloped by thick smoke in varying intensity from the grenades. Here and there troupers popped out from the black cloud in an apparent daze and holding their weapons as if lost. He swore that his people couldn't have been more prepared for this sort of maneuver, and ran forward, offering himself as a distraction until his fellow Harlequins could get their bearings.

Upon seeing the Eldar running toward him, one Ork laughed heartily and ran to meet him with his blade held high, while a couple others stood by to watch in amusement. The sound of the chain on his blade churning its teeth round-and-round seemed to scream for Jester's blood, but he continued forward unabated. Just as the two fighters came to a head-on and the Ork swung for his foe's upper torso, the Eldar slipped under the attack.

So close to the Ork's body he pivoted and easily bore both of the blades into his foe's side. The greenskin yelped in surprise at the sharp pain, but to his thick hide it was little more than a painful sting. Still, the master mime refused to relent, and he quickly tore the blades free one at a time only to stab them into the Ork's back as if he were climbing a wall one peg at a time. The downward tugging forced the Ork down on one knee as he finally started to shout out in pain.

Once the Ork was kneeling with his head bowed and neck exposed, Jester took one of his daggers and plunged it into the coarse hide. He twisted the blade around to dislocate the bone and, for good measure, pulled the dagger out and drove it through the back of the Ork's skull. With a whiplash movement of his arms, Jester forced the body off his daggers and turned to face the other two.

At some point after they watched the Eldar first stab their ally, the Orks rushed forward to lend their aid. Even when it became apparent that they wouldn't be able to save their companion, their intention to kill the attacker was clear, and the master mime took a stance to face them both. However, as they drew upon him a series of shots rang out, peppering the Ork to Jester's left with a few of the bullets digging into his head.

As his body crumpled in mid-run, the other Ork paid his dead partner no heed and continued forward. Enraged, the greenskin moved in for an overhead chop with his blade, and brought the weapon swinging down in a massive arc. Yet, the maneuver was easily side-stepped by the much more agile Eldar, and as the brute bent forward in attack, Jester stuck a dagger into his throat and the side of his head.

The mime chanced a glance over his shoulder and spotted Countess from afar, her position one that he'd seen her take dozens of time while shooting. However, another small group of Orks came clamoring out of the wreckage of the barracks, and Jester was forced to turn his attention back onto the newcomers.


	19. Chapter 19

"Get in there and give our leader your support, now!" Countess ordered to those Eldar taking cover around the barracks.

Still wielding a gun in each hand she looked over the area that Jester was fighting in, while other troupes tentatively emerged from out of the smoke released by the Ork grenades. Able to hear the sound of the Ork weapons, many of them came forth with their own blades or spears held at the ready. Those greenskins who rushed early were quickly put down by the Eldar, who worked as a group to dispatch their reckless foes. However, upon seeing that their leader stood alone, with only support from afar to stem the tide of survivors, many of them rushed to his defense.

The three Orks who climbed out to stop Jester after watching him put down their brethren barked in an unintelligible language as they rushed forward. They waved their chain swords in the air lustily with excitement as they ran forward, the sound of their blades almost deafening to hear. Countess saw her companion turn to face them with naught but his two daggers, and knew, even for him, three of the brutes would be too much in a direct fight. Fortunately, as she took aim at the Ork in lead, Jester showed that he was willing to fight dirty.

Countess watched from down the scope of her barrels as the mime reached out toward those charging him and made a tugging motion. The sand beneath their feet suddenly shot out from under them and moved forward, which caused the three Orks to crash into the ground and get a face full of sand. She prepared to shoot them down while they lie in the dirt, but then the death jester became aware of what the leading figure had shouted.

While a great, booming laugh came forth from within the barracks, another squad of five ran out to help their fallen companions. While they climbed over the debris left behind by the explosive another group of four took up positions atop the rubble. They worked together as teams of two; for there was a couple who brought forth what looked to be turrets from the back of a human vehicle. From where she stood it would have been possible for the death jester to pick them off with a few well-placed shots, but those who carried the ammo feed were covered in thick metal and used their very bodies to shield the one's operating the turrets.

Jester had already killed one of the fallen Orks by stabbing it through the back of its head with his dagger, but he was too preoccupied fighting the other two to notice the imminent threat. Worse, the other five who came to join the fight were almost upon his position, as were the rest of the Troupe, and they were all set to clash in the open field of sand before the machine gunners. Countess didn't doubt the brutal nature of the Orks, and knew that they would be willing to mow down their own people if it meant taking out as many of the Eldar as they could.

Now it made sense to her why the Orks had abandoned returning fire against the Eldar. By forcing the Harlequins to leave the smoke strewn edges and step into the open, their leader knew that the attackers would be too busy dealing with the group rampaging out. Furthermore, due to the amount of noise made by their chain weapons, there was no way any of those fighting would be able to hear her warning.

As the Eldar converged on the Orks, who, to their credit, managed to keep a solid defense, Countess swore at the enemy's plan. With the others busy, or in a bad location to shoot from, the death jester ran for the opening while the Orks set up their turrets. She opened fire on the Ork setting up to the right of the gaping hole, since the one on her left was covered too well by his companion. Many of her shots struck the turret itself, but she was pleased to see the gunmen recoil in pain as a few tore into his arm. However, his armored companion quickly stepped into her line of fire, preventing any more bullets from finding their mark while the Ork continued to prop the turret up.

Blocked off from the true threat, Countess sprinted even harder, hoping to catch them before they could do too much harm with their turrets.

(-****-)

This was just the sort of fight that Jester lived for.

In a time where most denizens of the universe fought with the aid of new technologies, the mad mime found a certain joy in forcing his enemies to fight under more personal circumstances. To force someone into a confrontation that relied on strength of body and mind… It was one of the few reasons he actually enjoyed fighting against the greenskins. Stupid as they were, and though they enjoyed large guns that made lots of noise, they were easily provoked into facing their opponents directly. What they lacked in mental dominance, the brutes more than made up in physical strength.

Though the mime had already killed two of the three who came at him from the second group, the five newcomers managed to arrive just in time for them to rescue their surviving companion.

The Ork who fell closest to him had been the easiest to take care of, and Jester put a knife through his head even as he tried to pick himself up from the ground. By that point the other two had regained their footing and went on the attack themselves. He knocked aside the chopping blade of one Ork with two quick strikes, and kicked him away so he could focus on the companion.

At that point, however, a couple of Jester's own allies came to his defense, and the Ork found himself pressed on three sides. One of the Harlequins wielded a spear and made a jab at the greenskin's chest, but the brute managed to grab hold of the weapon and pulled the Eldar in for a punch to his face. Yet, as that warrior went flailing back, another came up wielding a sword and cleaved through the arm that held the Eldar spear. As the Ork howled at the loss of his limb, Jester ran up from behind him and shoved a dagger into the brute's thick neck where he knew the spine to be. Though capable of withstanding grievous wounds, that was an injury which would drop even the hardiest of Orks.

The woman who hacked off the Ork's arm helped their companion to his feet, and the three Eldar turned to face the final survivor. However, after being knocked away he scurried to the clutches of his brethren. Almost at the same time that the three stared down the six, more Harlequins circled around the Orks, who were taking up a defensive position. With the Eldar almost triple their number, the Orks fended off the flurry of strikes that failed to penetrate their defenses.

So here they were; like sharks in a feeding frenzy they circled the mob of greenskins while, taking every opportunity to lash out at them in an attempt to force down their guard. The rush of the moment was almost too much for Jester to handle.

The mime laughed as he danced around the Orks with his own people, while they were forced to huddle together for safety. He periodically made an effort to stab at the circle, but they were quick to react and always turned aside the strikes, even those meant for friends. Occasionally one of the Orks would slash at an Eldar who came in too close, but the Harlequins too were fast to respond, and leaped aside before suffering any harm. Still, Jester knew they would get nowhere going on as they were.

Taking a step back and allowing the Troupe to harass the Orks on their own, Jester looked their enemy over. Their backs were closely pressed against one another, which appeared to form a small circle in between the lot of them. Deciding to play off that chance, the telepathic mime imagined a sphere floating just above the center of the group. He vividly imagined a bond wrapping around the heads of the six Orks, and clenched his right hand into a fist. However, before he could use his grip over them to make the Orks bash heads together bullets started to rip through the ring of encircling Eldar, and even the Orks huddled together.

As the Harlequins and Orks were both shredded by the turret fire, those greenskins with particularly great strength pushed themselves to make the most of their final moments. The few who survived the initial spurt of gunfire stumbled forward and recklessly swung their weapon through the air. A few of the troupes were caught by surprise, and were carved in two or found themselves maimed as they backed away too slowly from the dying Orks. It was the last assault they managed to make, before their blood was devoured by the sands and their lives came to an end.

Jester responded to the bullet storm immediately, and, switching from his previous use of telepathy, envisioned the sphere spreading outward. In his mind it grew to a curved wall just large enough to cover the space of the six Orks who were previously huddled together, and he used it to shield those closer to the back just in front of where he stood, where most of the Harlequins had run to.

"Come to me and do not stray, lest you be shredded by their turrets!"

As the Eldar gathered around him they were able to see that they had lost six to the surprise attack. That left them with ten survivors, including Jester, who frowned as he realized they were hopelessly pinned down. Amid the frantic rush to end the Ork mob none of them had paid attention to those who might be gathering in the barracks. The two turret teams let loose a constant stream of gunfire on their position, and though they knew none of the shots was reaching their foes, they were also aware that there was nowhere for the Eldar to run. Every bullet that struck the invisible barrier caused a sharp pang of pain to ring through Jester's head, and he quickly started to feel as though a knife were trying to pierce its way from _out_ of his skull.

Looking on with eyes that were quickly beginning to blur with tears, the mime considered one last trick that he might attempt. If he could thrust the energy of his barrier forward and bowl the Orks over, they might be disoriented long enough for his men to get close and finish the job.

However, as he tried to summon the will to force one more shockwave of power outward, he spotted Countess running up the small pile of rubble. The shooter on the left was unable to see her due to the Ork standing beside him blocking his view, and the pair on the right was too preoccupied shooting at their foes to notice her approach.

(-****-)

The death jester ran along the slope of the rubble and toward the Orks on higher ground. She could hear them jeering and laughing over how the Eldar were stuck with nowhere to go. They sneered and bore their fangs like wild animals, their green faces twisted and hideous and riddled with pale scars.

And they were shooting at her people.

She sprinted the remaining few feet up the small pile where the left turret stood, and jumped to kick the back of the first armored Ork. The great brute tumbled forward into the turret and its gunman, at first intercepting a few rounds which caused him to shout in surprise. At this close range, and from such a strong gun, the bullets pierced the armor he wore and tore into his abdomen. Meanwhile, his companion, still clutching the heavy gun, went down with his weapon. Too surprised to react, he lay there looking up at the woman above him before she aimed both guns at his eyes and pulled the triggers in unison.

Leaving the armored Ork to bleed out where he fell, Countess turned toward the other two.

The armored one approached Countess, a murderous gleam in his eyes as he looked the much smaller figure over. Yet he wasn't the true threat that needed to be dealt with, and she ignored him. Raising her guns, Countess took aim at the Ork who operated the turret behind him and peppered him with shots to the side of the head and chest, the bullets puncturing his lungs full of holes.

As that Ork collapsed to his knees and fell to lean onto the turret, the death jester holstered her pistols as the one in armor drew close. She reached for the sword on her back that Jester gave her and drew it with both hands. She instinctively slashed down diagonally and then brought the blade up for a second side swipe across the Ork's torso. As the greenskin recoiled from the injuries, Countess pressed her attack. She slashed at the Ork's barely exposed neck and managed to get the blade to slip in between the cracks of the armor. While the armored brute clutched at his throat trying to stem the flow of blood, Countess stepped forward and stabbed him through the chest, the blade easily piercing through the sheets of metal.

She pulled her blade free of the Ork's chest and pushed the body so that it'd fall backward.

_"Wretched Eldar bitch! I'll hack your broken body to pieces myself!"_

Countess turned to look into the barracks, bringing the sword up as she did so. On reflex, the death jester held the flat side facing away from her just as a massive blade came swinging mid-level at her. Though she successfully blocked the blow from cutting her in two, the force form the strike was enough to throw her back out from atop the pile of rubble.

(-****-)

Jester's eyes widened in horror as he watched his friend sail through the air, and, in a panic, he shouted out her real name, "Shivarra, let go of your sword!"

Still retaining her wits, Countess released the sword as her companion bid her to do and it safely flew from her grasp before she struck ground. The death jester tumbled over herself for several feet before finally coming to a halt between where the barracks stood and where her Harlequin allies were gathered. Even while Jester ran to her side, his weariness momentarily forgotten, Countess clamored to her feet and looked to where she saw her sword fall. The blade stood half buried by the sand close to where the blown open wall was and it appeared that she intended to run for the weapon.

_"Not so fast you witch…"_

Jester stopped in the middle of his run and shouted for Countess to return to the group. After listening more closely to the speaker, it sounded as though the voice possessed a quality of metal, and seemed to grate out. A moment later, his suspicions were confirmed.

While Countess turned tail and ran back to Jester and the others, a great metal form leapt from within the barracks. It flew swiftly through the air, and caused a wave of sand to kick up when it finally crashed into the ground. Dagga then rose to his full height, standing well over twelve feet and towering over even the tallest among the Eldar. Most of his body wasn't only covered in metal, but _was_ metal. Due to their uncanny bodily endurance, such surgical practice was common among the Orks in order to increase their effectiveness, though, even for their uncouth culture, such work came at great cost and not all those who underwent the procedures lived.

This Ork leader looked to be one of the fortunate ones.

As Jester and his Harlequin troupe looked upon the mechanical giant they found their foe to be more machine than flesh. The only flesh visible on Dagga was a small patch around his left eye, though, due to the intensity of its red glow, the Elder discerned that it too was bionic as well. The Ork's jaw bad been entirely replaced with a massive metal piece that jutted out with sharpened blades cut into it for teeth. His steel-form was squat, and gave him the appearance of a tank with arms and legs. The Ork's left hand had been entirely removed and replaced with a giant blade that possessed several notches and scratches, but the right appeared far more threatening. Still possessing five digits, the things which served as fingers were little more than curved pieces of sharpened metal that Dagga constantly clicked together as thought even his clawed hand were hungry.

Their reaction was immediate. The Eldar around Jester and Countess encircled the Ork and started looking for any weaknesses they might exploit. Countess pulled her twin guns on the giant and opened fire, causing him to raise the clawed hand to his feet. As bullets bounded off his body, only adding new scratches to his already battered form, Dagga unleashed a guttural, scraping laugh.

_"Do you honestly think you'll hurt me like that? Let me show you why tiny people should stay away from the bigger people!"_

The Ork turned away from the woman shooting at him, preventing any shot from reaching the surface area of his head. With reflexes faster than anybody there would have guessed, Dagga reached his right hand out and tightly grabbed one of the Harlequins. It was the same woman who had come to help Jester before by cutting off the arm of one of his attackers. She screamed in horrible agony as Dagga's iron claw crushed her at the waist and the metal fingers stabbed into her body.

Enraged by her cruel demise, several others surged forward to try and cut into the metal form with their Eldar weaponry, but found their attacks futile. Dagga laughed once again before throwing the woman's broken body on the ground and swinging out with the blade that served as his left hand. What he had failed to do to Countess, the Ork succeeded against the others. While there were a few who had the sense to drop to the ground or throw themselves back, most of those attacking were too caught up in their anger and responded slowly. Dagga managed to cleave through nearly all those who stood to his left, and almost maimed a few others as he went about in a full circle.

The surviving Eldar backed away from the metal giant. Throwing down their weapons, they reached for whatever sidearm they possessed and attempted to shoot at the part of his head that was still normal. Unfortunately, Dagga went back to protecting the fleshy part of his skull with his right hand. Then, to the surprise of the Harlequins, he pointed his left hand out and shot the blade straight for one of the Eldar shooters. The man stood transfixed in shock as the blade flew swiftly at him and pierced through his body. A long chain attached to the blade and Dagga's arm allowed the Ork to reel the hand back in with the body still attached, though he shook the corpse free once his limb was returned.

As Countess took off running to try and get a better shot at the Ork, Jester looked on with worry. He knew they would only be able to kill their foe if someone got lucky and struck his head, but it looked as though Dagga had no intention of presenting the Eldar with a free shot. Neither could the mime use his telepathy, for the Ork's metal form was far too massive for him to manipulate, and his mind shielded by the implants in his body.

While he thought about how to handle their dilemma, Jester fingered the hilts of his daggers and wondered if he might try approaching from behind to put a blade in the giant's skull. He was fast enough to get past Dagga's defenses, but the Ork was so large he worried about his ability to even reach the thing's head before Dagga figured out what he was up to.

Then, as he mulled these things over in his head, Jester heard a familiar hardened voice call out to the battlefield and to him in particular.

"Jester, put that thing down before it takes any more of our men!"

Looking over his shoulder, the master mime spotted Arhriban and his group running toward the barracks. The high warlock still held fast to his sword, but, after they'd gotten close to the fight, he threw the weapon. It flew straight and fast with unerring precision, and Jester knew the warlock to be using his own powers to enhance the deadly blade's trajectory toward the Ork. He then watched as the warlock's sword deeply penetrated Dagga's metal back.

Whether from pain or shock, the Ork yelled out in alarm. Dagga was so surprised to have been stabbed that he even stopped shielding his head as he turned to face the attackers, though a round of shots from his left caused him to stop and bring up his blade hand as a shield.

While the Ork was busy recoiling in surprise from the damage he'd suffered, Jester had already pulled out his own blades and was sprinting for the metal brute. He almost had to veer off course and run to the side, but fortunately Dagga stopped mid-turn as he moved to protect the left side of his face. Continuing forward unimpeded, the mime leaped the last several steps and landed atop the hilt of Arhriban's sword. Much like the warlock's weapon, his own daggers were handcrafted and made of material that made even the other Eldar weaponry look insignificant, and so he was able to successfully stab each blade into the Ork's shoulders.

Now the Ork shouted in fear. This was no situation he was used to; in fact, it had been years since he'd last felt his life to be in any sort of danger. Now Dagga felt the familiar sensation of terror that things might come to an end, and he flew into a rabid rage. The Ork leader roared ferociously and swiftly straightened his back while flinging his arms up.

Jester had been in the process of pulling out his right dagger and preparing to plunge it into his foe's head when the brute suddenly snapped. Dagga's wild movements took him by such surprise that the mime dropped his weapon, and was forced to clutch his remaining dagger and sling himself over the Ork's shoulder to stay atop him.

_"I'll squeeze the life out of you and your kind, Eldar! I'll hack you to bloody bits and devour your broken bodies! I'll tear you asunder!"_

As Dagga all but screamed, his voice shrieking like metal against itself, he reached for the Eldar on his back with the snapping claw.

Jester released his hold on the Ork's shoulder and fell away before the terrible device could take hold of him. Before Dagga could shake himself in frustration and fury, the mime climbed back up, this time intending to use his left dagger. However, as the Ork threw all sense to the wind and shook himself like a ragdoll, the Eldar found it difficult to pull the dagger free from his foe's shoulder. Dagga's reckless movements also made it dangerous for the others to continue firing at the Ork, and they were forced to watch helplessly.

Then, desperately looking over the Ork's shoulder, Jester spotted a glimmer of sunlight from a black object sticking out from the ground. It was Countess' sword, still stuck in the sand and untouched…and made from the same material as his daggers and Arhriban's sword. The mime stuck his hand out and willed for the blade to come toward him, though he angled the weapon so that it was the pointed end sailing straight for him and Dagga. Jester then placed both feet against the Ork's back and kicked himself away from the metal giant, doing a somersault in the air as he flew to safety. As for Dagga, he only had a few seconds to realize he was free of the Eldar clutching at him before Countess' sword plunged into his bionic eye and through his skull, the hilt stopping just as it reached his socket.

Dagga stood still for a moment as the machinery of his body registered his death. Then the Ork's great form collapsed to its knees and fell forward.


	20. Chapter 20

**Playing with Chaos – 20**

None except for Arhriban moved after Dagga's fall, and he stomped over to Jester. "Attacking a fortified bunker with nothing but foot soldiers? Oh, and let's not forget the _thing_ that was leading this mob." The high warlock motioned with a hand at the great metal mass lying just mere feet away. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Jester ignored Arhriban, and walked over to the Ork's fallen form instead, picking up one of his daggers while he did so. Without saying a word he grabbed Dagga by the top of his head with a single and, using his free hand, waved for the sword to pull itself from the Ork's skull. As the mime maneuvered the sword so that the point was held down and took the blade by its handle, dark-red blood dripped from the slick surfaced of the metal, appearing black as it fell upon the sunlit sand.

"Countess, come closer… I believe this blade is yours." He said.

As the death jester obeyed her friend's request he turned the sword over so that the handle was held toward Countess. While her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dark blade she looked at the sword that had ended the Ork chief's life, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Staring at the reflection of sunlight off the metal it appeared that she held onto a piece of the evening sky in her very hands, as if the light bouncing back at her were coming from the stars far above.

Jester then stooped low and pulled his remaining dagger from the Ork's collarbone. It slid out from the body with utmost ease, as if the knife had been oiled while inside the wound.

This left only the high warlock's sword stuck in Dagga's body. The straight sword protruded from the middle of the Ork's back, sticking out right from where there spinal column should have been and looked to cut the bone in two. Jester marveled at how Dagga managed to continue standing with Arhriban's blade stuck in his back the way it was, but then he shook his head. Likely the motorized parts of his body were the only things that managed to prevent him from freezing up. It seemed that sometimes even the ingenuity of Ork technology proved itself useful in some circumstances.

Jester grabbed the sword by its hilt and pulled it from the Ork's body.

"Here Arhriban, catch." He said while tossing the blade over toward the one it was forged for.

While the sword sailed at him the high warlock brought a hand up, and deftly caught the immaculate weapon by its handle. With a huff, Arhriban sheathed the sword at his side.

"Do you think that changes the situation? You'll just walk over to that brute's corpse, unstick him with our weapons, return them, and nothing else will have mattered? Do you realize how many of our people died today because of you? And for what; all so you can lick the boots of some miserable monkai and beg that he gives you access to a ship off this miserable wasteland."

The high warlock pointed at the four others who'd come with him: the three warlocks and guard who remained of his original group. "Because of your antics the other day, and your insistence on attacking this place now, two of mine fell prey to a returning scouting party. In fact, one of the fallen was a warlock even! I'm not sure if you realize it or not, but, considering the place we're stuck in, we could really benefit from protecting those of us with magical talent!"

"Arhriban, shut up." Countess said, the coldness of her voice silencing the high warlock's complaints.

Jester slowly looked about at those who survived the attack, as well as those who didn't. There were more alive than dead, but their already small numbers had certainly taken a hit. Though he would never admit it, Arhriban was right, and he would have to be more careful with their future plans. Before now he was used to being on worlds where his group had access to whatever resources they needed, including new bodies, but such was no longer the case, and it was something he was still getting familiar with.

"That just means there'll be more room for the rest of us on that ship." The mime waved one of his hands in a circular motion toward where all the bodies lay. "A few of you get together and start stripping the bodies of anything useful; then gather them together so we can burn them all as one. The rest of you set out and make sure none of the Orks survived by hiding in some hole, then head to the town hall and patch up our wounded. The sun will have started setting by then, so we'll take refuge in the ruins this evening."

The mime clapped his hands together as the troupe started on their orders, thankfully with no protest, even after Arhriban's outspoken defiance.

"Arhriban…"

The high warlock crossed his arms, and waited a few seconds while trying to consider whether he wanted to bother responding. "What is it?"

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet?"

"Yes, I have. However, I see no reason why those eggs need to be our own people when there's no need for them to be broken any time soon."

Jester nodded. "Actually, I think I agree with you on this matter. That said, let's go set things in motion so that some other eggs get broken." The master mime chuckled while pointing at the barracks ahead of their position, of which three of their troupers were climbing over the rubble to start searching for survivors. "Looking at this guy, I'm sure the rest of these Orks were in contact with a larger group. After all, we did blow up several of their strongholds on the last planet we visited. Why don't you go in there and check for some sort of radio? I'm sure they would love to know our coordinates…"

At first the high warlock said nothing, but continued to stand there with his arms folded together. Then, after raising a hand to his perfectly smooth faceplate and shaking his head, he spoke in an amused voice. "It's about time someone let me handle the negotiations around here."

Countess and the mime watched as Arhriban trudged through the burning sands toward the barracks, then, once he had climbed over the rubble and disappeared into the building, they turned to face each other.

"Did you call out my name earlier?"

"I was worried that idiot had hurt you…"

"That's sweet."

"Do you have the artifact, Countess dear?"

"I do."

The death jester then reached into the satchel hanging from her side and produced a dark disk about as large as one of her hands. Set in the middle of that black disk was the face of a human skull, with eight steel arrow heads poking out all around the small object.

"Perfect… Put it back and take a walk with me. Oh, and keep an eye out for some sort of church. These settlers may live on a mere backwater planet, but even they're likely to follow the same customs as the Imperium Empire. And I really can't think of a more fitting place to activate a Chaos relic."

(-****-)

Arhriban grinned to himself beneath the bright orange faceplate, and walked with a more upbeat step than when he'd criticized Jester, while also rolling his shoulder for massage. Perhaps the months of sitting around with nothing to do but watch over the troupe had set him on edge, and the high warlock merely needed time to adjust back to into things. For, now that he was tasked to interact with the enemy, it felt to him that things were finally getting done again, and he was no longer greatly annoyed by the loss of their troupers in taking the barracks.

While he poked his head into the various rooms and walked down the multitude of hallways, Arhriban allowed himself to dwell on the idea.

His aggression toward Jester started to make more sense to him as he thought on it. In the three months that the mad mime's troupe had been on this backwater planet it always looked that Jester did nothing to secure them passage elsewhere. As far as anybody seemed to know their esteemed leader did nothing, while the rest of them were forced to remain stranded in an arid desert wasteland.

In that time, Jester made certain that the troupe was still combat ready. However, targets had always been rogue groups of humans; worthless criminal rabble that fell prey to their Eldar tactics. Maybe this too had become so familiar to the high warlock that he'd underestimated the Orks nearly as much as Jester. This he pondered, poking around the reasoning for his frustration toward the mime, while doing the same through the filth-strewn barracks.

It occurred to him that his anger was note entirely unfounded. Before, when they'd traveled together, the troupe was always busy carrying out some devastating plan, and this had kept the high warlock's attention focused on the business at hand. Yet, after lying around complacent for months on end, he'd been able to bear witness more-and-more to Jester's mannerisms, and his leader's callous disregard for organization started to get under his skin. It astounded Arhriban that only recently did he realize this, and the high warlock found himself shocked to have followed the psychopath around for so long. Thinking back on his history with the man, it had always been about being given a challenge to play with, but no longer did that keep him satisfied.

Perfection and success were what motivated him now.

Since Dagga had been so large, many sections of the roof for the multiple story building were torn asunder, and Arhriban used the rubble to navigate more quickly between the floors. However, shortly after he started to walk around the fourth floor, it occurred to the high warlock that the floor he was on had suffered minimal damage. It then occurred to him that the Ork leader must have stuck to the bottom two floors. Then Arhriban remembered that part of the destroyed ceiling for the third floor had trailed off to a side room, away from most of the other well used spaces throughout the building.

The high warlock turned and retreated down the short flight of steps, however, rather than continue to the second floor, he stayed on the third. Instead of following the broken roof all about, Arhriban figured that it to be faster if he merely searched for where the floor to down below opened up. It didn't take him long to locate it, for it was just a short ways down the hall, and there he found a door from the third floor hanging ajar over an opening in the floor.

Jumping down below, he faced the torn down wall and stared into a room lit up with a green tint. Unfortunately, it looked to be nothing more than the Ork leader's private sleeping quarters, as it was cleared of everything, save several mattresses from around the settlement no doubt.

"Damn it! Where could…"

The high warlock's voice trailed off as he suddenly remembered that he hadn't completely checked the first floor of the barracks. Instead, he immediately came to where most of the rubble was in the building and started jumping stories. Then, after realizing this fact, Arhriban cursed himself for a fool and flew back down to the lowest floor.

Then, following the trail of broken ceiling once again, from where Dagga had made his own set of stairs to the second floor out of a collapsed support beam, Arhriban found himself circling 'round to a room located in the far back of the building.

There, against the opposite wall, an assortment of electronic devices had been set up and, though they were crude in design, their use for communication was more than obvious.

Arhriban walked forward and, as the machine appeared to be off, flicked the first large switch he could find on the device. It hummed to life, and the crackle of static filled the room, but, after playing with a nearby knob, the noise soon died away and the faint sound of electricity powering the machine was all that could be heard.

Finally, after sitting in silence for several minutes, the warlock leaned forward and pressed on a large button in the middle of the dash.

"I wonder who else could be out there…"

Again, he sat in silence, but this time only for a little while as the device crackled slightly and a rough voice spoke back.

"Huh? Dis ain't no Ork voice… Who do ya think you are ta talk with us?"

Arhriban grinned and suppressed a chuckle before pressing on the button again. "You filthy animals attack one of our settlements and you don't think we'll come back to stamp you out? You must be dumber than the miserable chaps we put down to reclaim this place…"

"You killed Dagga?"

"Remember this for the future. If you fuck with the Imperium Empire, we'll fuck you back. Only we'll do it better."

"How dare you talk like dis to Mo'Grok, champion of god Gork! Me and da boys are gonna come kick all yer teef in and string 'em up for jewelry."

Arhriban laughed cruelly. "Well, _Mo'Grok_, if that's what you're really set on doing… You know where to come find us."

Then, while Mo'Grok continued to swear and make promises of butchering all of the humans he could get his hands on, the high warlock pulled out his pistol and fired three shots into the communication device, silencing it permanently.

"I should go see how the injured are holding up. I'm sure they'll be just as happy as I am once they hear how negotiations worked out.

(-****-)

"Well doesn't this place just look absolutely perfect?"

"I'll agree that it has a certain traditional charm about it."

"Oh my, just look at what the Orks did to this place! It's so trashed up! I love it!"

As expected, within fifteen minutes of walking among the settlement Countess and Jester came across a building with a single cross in the center of a circle atop the highest point of its roof. Probably the third largest building in the settlement – the first two being the barracks and town hall – the two Eldar weren't sure what to expect the place to look like after being in the care of Orks for so long.

Sure enough, though a sacred place among the humans – as well as a place of desecration for the Chaos – it appeared that the church had been used to house the Orks at their own discretion. Standing in the middle of what should have been the center aisle, it was impossible to count how many of the pews had been smashed and made into beds, or set up as posts and desks. Even the small statue of the God Emperor at the far end of the now filthy rug was now tarnished and stained, something that the Imperium would take great offense to…

Of course, only if they should they arrive to the settlement first.

"Oh Beloved, please give me the relic."

Without saying anything, Countess did as she was bid. Reaching into her satchel, the death jester once again pulled out the Chaos artifact and handed it over to the mime, being careful that she didn't prick him with one of the eight arrow heads.

Jester held the macabre relic in his left hand and walked down the length of the aisle toward where the speakers pedestal still stood. He then placed his right hand atop the skeletal face, and murmured something in another language, foreign even to Countess. Then the skull started to glow orange; at first it was dull, but then the glow brightened until it looked like heated metal, all while the rest of the disk only darkened and from the eyes a red gleam started to appear.

The mime then gently placed the Chaos artifact upon the podium, and returned to his friend's side, where they looked on in wonder.

"Why are you doing this?" Countess suddenly asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really, but I am curious. You know that I don't generally care for the reasons, but this plan of yours seems different. Why?"

Jester shrugged. "Maybe I just like to see people fight each other is all; perhaps I enjoy all the senseless killing."

"Yet that doesn't tell me why you enjoy it so much."

"Well, why not?"

Countess shook her head, unable to respond back, which caused Jester to burst out in laughter.

"Think about how long you've been around, dishing out death and trying to be faster with that trigger finger of yours. Amid all that, have you ever stopped to ask yourself this question: _if these people are all so quick to resort to execution, should they deserve to live? _It's dog-eat-dog out there dear, and someone has to be the master throwing the animals a platter of meat every now and then."


	21. Chapter 21

**Playing with Chaos – 21**

"That's not possible…" A frail voice rasped, while the speaker shook their head at the dimly lit monitor before him. "This can't be reading right, that sector is so far away…but it is! All my scans are tracing appropriately, which means…which means someone activated the Mark! But only a champion could have activated it…"

The speaker turned his disfigured head away from the monitor; his features twisted and scrunched up so horribly it was impossible to tell if the man had a scowl on his face. Gleaming spitefully in the midst of such grotesque features, the man's dark eyes darted from the intercom, to the monitor, and back to the intercom.

He looked hesitant, as if there were something which worried him about the situation, but quickly shook himself out of it. Though the thought that his radars might have gone faulty remained fixed in his mind, the occurrence was uncommon enough to alarm him. The dark power contained within such Chaos artifacts were devices rumored to only be accessible by the greatest of their champions. Yet for one to have awakened so far from a Chaos homeworld…

With tentative hands he reached out and took up the microphone while holding down a button close to the base.

"I need a runner…"

After a few short seconds passed by, a cold voice cut through from the other side. _"What news do you have to report?"_

The scouter looked back to the monitor one last time, and still there was no change in the anomaly's location.

"I believe that I've located our stolen artifact. If this is true, then the High Priest must be informed immediately!"

(-****-)

"General, Sir, we have a communication request coming in."

"Who is it from?"

The soldier suppressed a shudder as he felt the General's attention focus on him. "It's coming in from the temple, Sir."

"Well that would be Lord Plaguebreath then. It's best that we not miss a call from him. He's earned that name for a reason, after all…"

A powerful sorcerer, and devout priest to the Chaos god Slaanesh, unholy Prince of Pleasure, the temple high priest was known for his open love of torture, primarily through decay. Lord Plaguebreath enjoyed watching things rot away so much that he took to using noxious gases and chemicals alongside his magical powers, and had even subjected himself to his own deadly alchemy. Now the sorcerer, turned Priest of Slaanesh, was rumored to be horribly disfigured, and took great pleasure in destroying the flesh of other beings just as his own was.

The General hummed thoughtfully as he moved down the center of the bridge. Each of his strides caused a heavy thud to sound through the large chamber, as the weight of his massive battle marine armor caused his steps to fall like lead. When he reached the middle of the bridge, where he was able to overlook the entire Command Board, the General finally stopped. He was aboard his war vessel, leading his own personal fleet in search of the stolen artifact. The General took the theft as a personal attack against his pride, for it had occurred while under his watch over the quadrant, and he vowed to see the Great Slaanesh's emblem returned at all costs.

Lifting up his left arm, which was covered in hulking armor up to the hand, for a massive clawed appendage stuck out from his wrist, the General motioned for the communication to go through.

"Ah, General Gorebath, just the ugly mug I wanted to see…"

A great screen flickered into life before Gorebath, and before him appeared Lord Plaguebreath. As expected, the High Priest was covered in his brightly ornate robes of purple and pink and marred with lines of green, though the stain of blood was greatly visible in the front. Upon his head, and hiding his own hideous features, there was a black helmet shaped like the casket head of an iron maiden, from which several spikes jutted forth.

The general's own scarred face twisted into a terrible scowl, as sharp and broken teeth poked through where parts of his lips were missing.

"Lord Plaguebreath…"

"I want a report. How are efforts to retrieve the artifact that _you_ let slip past us?"

Gorebath folded his arms over his bulking chest, but remained calm. "I've sent out scouts to the far reaches of this sector, where they are searching for places it may have been traded or dumped. In addition, I've been preparing teams to establish outposts on the various nearby worlds, in order to search through the locale more thoroughly."

"But you haven't found it."

"No, High Priest, we haven't."

"That's because you're searching in the wrong area, General."

"What?" Gorebath exclaimed incredulously. "Reports say that an Eldar broke into the temple, and if it was one of the dark one's then they'd probably still stick around or take our Lord's Mark back to their people. If it's not here, then where…"

"It's been taken beyond the quadrant, to a far-off planet sitting just barely in the Southern fringes of the Imperium Empire's territory. It seems to be a mining colony based on what our records show of that area. Largely untapped too, for Imperium forces were diverted from that territory during time of war and it's been ignored since…"

"So the Mark of Slaanesh is on a world of miners, eh?" General Gorebath laughed harshly, a sound like someone drowning and trying to force the water from their lungs, though no air remains. "We'll journey straight there and take the planet, and the Mark, in Slaanesh's name!"

"You're taking the entire fleet?"

"Of course, for I intend to show these thieves the error they made by stealing from the Chaos! As punishment, they will watch this world die and be reborn to serve a new master!"

Plaguebreath let out a cold, humorless laugh. "Good to hear. All the less reason for the emblem to slip past your vigilant watch for a second time…" The High Priest laughed once again, this time to mock Gorebath as the screen went black and faded away.

However, rather than be insulted, the General merely chuckled as well.

"What are your orders, Sir?"

"Call the scouts back and cancel preparations for the outposts. Then send out a command to the rest of the ships that we're to head off immediately. Have our brethren at the temple already sent the coordinates we need?"

"Yes Sir. I'll send them out and put them into our own navigation"

"Perfect…" General Gorebath said as those under his command carried out their orders.

His scowl twisted into a monstrous smile, which revealed his broken teeth, while he looked ahead into the vast reaches of space. The High Priest was a fool, an arrogant fool, and General Gorebath had finally tired of his gloating. Now that perfect remedy to usurp Plaguebreath had presented itself. Once his fleet secured the Mark, and the planet, Gorebath's honor would be absolute, and he smiled at the idea of wielding the artifact's power against the temple's present ruler.

He'd been a general for long enough, and he felt it time to rise through the ranks once more.

(-****-)

"Well Malverick, the deed is done and the Orks lie dead. You can send your own people out now to get that place looking like its back in order."

"Really now, well I appreciate the help you lent, but it seems that we won't be able to head in there after all. As it turns out, the military actually did manage to get one of their Chapters to look into these Ork attacks. Their force is still three days away, but they'll get here soon enough."

"Oh, but something like that isn't going to get in the way of our deal now, would it?"

Captain Malverick leaned back and looked at the Eldar standing across the desk from him while stroking the graying mustache on his upper lip.

"Course not. I'm a man of my word after all, just as I was raised. You helped clear out those Orks, so I'll turn a blind eye toward your presence on this planet. But, when those space marines do show up, won't they be curious about what happened to the Orks at the settlement?"

"Probably, it's not like they'd believe a bunch of miners took em out." Jester tapped a finger against the chin of his mask, feigning as though he were giving the dilemma serious thought, before shrugging indifferently. "Tell them the truth: you don't know what happened to the Orks. As far as you're concerned they just attacked each other and drove themselves into the wastes. It isn't as if it'd be the first time a mob of those greenskins would have done something foolish like that."

"True, Orks are quite renowned for their brash temperament, even amongst themselves…" The Captain of the planet's militia continued to tug lightly at his mustache, as though lost in some thought, before getting to his feet and reaching a hand across the desk. "Well Jester, I'll have preparation to take care of, so it would probably be best if you were off. I thank you, and your people, once again for the assistance."

"Ah, what are friends for?" The mime said while taking the man's outstretched hand and giving it a shake and sharp squeeze.

Malverick eyed the other figure wearily. "I'll uphold my end of the bargain and not meddle in your affairs so long as you're on the planet, but I would like to request that you try not to bring too much attention to yourselves. It could get difficult to keep word from spreading if too many others learn of your presence."

"Oh, I don't think we'll have anything to fear. I and my people don't plan on being too much of a bother. We greatly prefer solitude ourselves." Jester chuckled lightly before continuing. "Well then Captain, since all things appear to be in order, I'd best head out and let my ensemble know that they're safe!"

The master mime walked past the Captain's desk for the stairs, but stopped just as he reached the first step. "Oh, and Captain... I hope your new guests enjoy the reception!"

(-****-)

Just as he did so many days ago, and many times before then, Jester followed his long-lost steps through the desert back to the place his troupe now called home.

After staying a night in the ruins of the human settlement, it took the Harlequin troupe nearly two days to make the journey home, for they trudged wearily through the desert wasteland. However, heartening to them all, upon reaching the new network of caves and plateaus that would serve as their new home over the spires, they discovered that those few left behind to tend their gear had succeeded in moving all of the resources.

The troupers had rejoiced to return from bloody battle to a base well-prepared, and Jester gave the lot permission to enjoy themselves from the spoils of victory. Upon searching through the town ruins, a couple death jesters located where the Orks had stashed their own loot. Among the ransacked goods had been multiples caches of the humans' food items; enough as to prevent the Eldar from digging into their own stores. Yet, upon their arrival the sun had already begun to set, and Jester was in great haste to leave, and did so shortly after announcing for the troupe to enjoy themselves.

None beside Countess and Arhriban knew of their leader's departure, and though the latter greatly desired to know where Jester sought to go, the former refused to tell the warlock. Of course, he had only been leaving to speak with Malverick, though only so he may find out when the Imperium forces would arrive.

Now he had what he wanted, and Jester was overjoyed, so overjoyed in fact that he dared make the walk back to the canyons in the middle of the night.

_Three days! Just three more days until those self-righteous zealots arrive! So soon, so soon! Ahah… Oh, I wonder who they're sending. The call went out for Orks, so it'll probably be some group specialized in that sort of combat. But what will they do after finding the artifact, I wonder… Call for help? To imagine, an activated Chaos artifact doing on a planet like this, oh they'll be in for such a shock! Hopefully that Malverick has the wits to deal with this, or else he won't be around much longer._

The master mime broke into a giggle as he got lost thinking about his plots, and was soon reenacting movements of battle while ever walking forward. So thrilled was he that the cold weather did little to affect him, and there was even a heat that radiated from his body that warmed the night air. It was the strength of his own psychic energy, now amplified by his genuinely positive mood, and, by his own power, that was the only thing which kept him alive through the freezing night.

When Jester finally did return to his far away home it was the next day, though the sun wouldn't rise for another few hours. The master mime had been on the move for nearly an entire day straight, and the fatigue from his own actions finally caught up with him. Upon reaching the top of one plateau Jester wearily stumbled to-and-fro among the canyons, reaching out with his mind to sense for the one his friend lie resting in.

He eventually found the den he'd been searching for and wearily entered.

Countess lie in fitful slumber wrapped in an assortment of blankets and upon a set of thick rugs, all looted from past raids. Then, tired as he was, Jester took one of the blankets from atop his sleeping friend, and curled up on the ground beside her.

He was so very tired, and now had naught but time until the pieces would fall into place.


End file.
